


Dawn of a New Day

by clgfanfic, JodyNorman



Series: The Legacy [13]
Category: Poltergeist: The Legacy, The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:46:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An organization bent on destroying mankind develops the ability to clone human beings, and one of their random samples is Blair Sandburg. But Blair was fixated on the story of an old "guardian" and his "companion," and that opened the door for the companion's spirit to take over the clone. In the duplicate of Blair's body, the companion goes in search of a new guardian, and the only one in town is James Ellison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn of a New Day

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Sensory Overload #6
> 
> The true author of this story is clgfanfic, but we agreed to post it as part of this series.

**A Secret Facility**

**Somewhere in California**

 

          The buzz of conversation dropped substantially when the tall, white-haired man entered the small lecture hall. His cold, no-nonsense gaze swept over the men and women scattered in the padded seats, blue eyes narrowing until there was absolute silence.

          He stepped behind a podium set up at the left side of the small stage and began speaking without another glance at the audience, his attention focused on the images appearing on the screen at the back of the stage – a silent and rapid time-lapse video that began with a small growing lump of tissue in a large, bubbling tub of pink-tinted liquid.

          "Today is the dawn of a new day," the white-haired man stated. "For years we have tried to right the greatest wrong ever done to this planet – the rise of mankind. We have had our successes but, more often, our failures. Our enemies have been vigilant, but they are not infallible."

          He paused, smiling thinly as the now-large glob of flesh began to take on a more definitive form. Men in white labcoats moved around the tank, attaching wires to one end of the growing mass. "The very technology our enemies have developed to help them sustain and advance mankind is being put to a much more important use in our research laboratories. Ladies, gentlemen, we have developed a successful method for the rapid cloning of human beings outside the uterus."

          A soft intake of breath echoed in the hall, the men and women glancing at one another, their expressions a mix of excitement and determination.

          "As you know, our enemies developed this technology in order to reconstruct the faces of murderers and terrorists from a DNA blueprint, quickly and accurately. However, they modified the process to ensure that no higher cognitive functions were allowed to develop… that their living heads never acquired sentience."[1]

          He paused again, watching as the video continued to rush time forward, showing the unfolding growth of an entire human body from the original small tissue sample. When the clone, still floating submerged in the pinkish liquid, blinked its eyes open several people in the audience gasped out loud.

          "We, however, will require sentience… of a sort." The clone looked directly at the video camera for a moment, intelligence staring out at the viewers before the screen went dark. "And we have achieved it through a blend of computer technology and an experimental organic chip interface developed by our researchers specifically for this purpose. Using this combination of technologies we can literally download basic information and personality traits into the clone during the later stages of development."

          "Dr. Axton–" one of the men in the audience started, but the white-haired man waved him to silence.

          "All of you have also been contributing to our grand cause, developing new and modified viruses that have, over the last decade, slowly begun to wreak their havoc across the world – AIDS in Africa being your biggest success, the too-weak West Nile virus strain introduced in New York your most recent failure.

"In the past we have all been forced to move carefully, slowly. Too slowly. Every day that passes pushes this planet closer and closer to her death and the extinction of all life. But that is no longer the case. With the clones we now have the perfect vectors by which to introduce disease anywhere in the world, and none of them will be seen as a potential biological terrorist. The authorities will not have them on their threat assessment lists. They will be local policemen, housewives, flight attendants, nurses, teachers and students. Ordinary people who lead ordinary lives."

          Dr. Axton walked to the center of the stage, looking out at the audience. "Your task is to create a new or modified virus that we can use to infect these clones. Keep in mind that the copies will be significantly more fragile than an average human, lasting on average only six to twelve days. It must be a highly contagious virus; high morbidity and mortality rates are a must. This will be our Armageddon virus.

"You have three weeks to develop trial strains, then we will begin to conduct tests, randomly creating clones, infecting them, and sending them back to their communities to pass the viruses on to as many people as possible before they themselves succumb. With luck, mankind will _finally_ be destroyed.

"We must not allow this opportunity to slip past us. We have within our grasp a method by which we can finally free this planet from the plague of humanity. We must succeed. Failure might very well mean the death of us all."

The audience erupted with enthusiastic applause.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Four Weeks Later

## Day One

 

          Blair Sandburg was sitting in his office at Rainier University, working on the final edits to a paper that would appear in one of the many academic journals dealing with cultural anthropology, when his phone rang.

          He scooped up the receiver, saying, "Yeah, Jim, I–"

          "Excuse me, Blair Sandburg?" a lightly Dutch-accented voice interrupted.

          Blair stopped, recognizing the voice, but unable to immediately place it. "Yes. I'm sorry, I–"

          "This is Derek Rayne."

          "Dr. Rayne!" he said, smiling. "It's great to hear from you. Is there something I can do for you?"

          "Yes, I think there is. I was calling to invite you to join me and a small number of scholars in Sofia, Bulgaria."

          "Bulgaria?" Blair echoed, his curiosity peaking.

          "Yes. One of my… coworkers in Athens has found an interesting archeological site in the Rhodope Mountains. I believe it might have a bearing on your area of research."

          "Sentinels?"

          "It is highly suggestive, yes. The Luna Foundation will pick up the cost of your flight if you would be willing to act as a consultant."

          Blair felt his excitement rising, humming along the surface of his skin and making the hairs on his arms stand on end. The Luna Foundation was a very interesting institution that dabbled in everything from in-depth historical research to ancient language translations to archeology and anthropology to paranormal debunking. And Derek Rayne was the director, not to mention one of Blair's idols.

He was sure that there was even more to the Luna Foundation, but he'd always been a little too intimidated and awed by Derek Rayne to work up the courage to ask.

          "When?" Blair inquired.

          "In two weeks, give or take a couple of days. It will depend on the travel arrangements."

          "Let me check," Blair said, grabbing his date book and thumbing through it until he found the current date. He quickly tuned the pages, checking for appointments over the following few weeks and finding nothing that he couldn't reschedule. "Yeah, sure, I can get away."

          "Excellent. I will send you the travel details through e-mail once I have them. A day or two at most. I also have an attachment for you, a translation of a document that was discovered on the site."

          "Great," Blair said. "I'm at B-Sandburg, at bones, dot-Rainier, dot-E-D-U."

          "Very good. I will get that off to you today. I think you will find it most interesting."

          "I really appreciate the opportunity, Dr. Rayne."

          "Please, call me Derek."

          "Derek," Blair repeated, grinning.

          "I hear that you've finished your studies?"

          Blair's grin widened. "Yeah, I finally got my doctorate last May. I'm doing a post-doc right now."

          "Very good. I wanted to tell you that I have been enjoying your recent work – very insightful. And we wanted the leading expert on ancient sentinels for this project in Bulgaria, so that meant you."

          "Yeah, I guess it does," Blair replied, blushing. He still wasn't used to being a "real person" in academe.

"And how is your… friend? Detective Ellison, wasn't it?

          "Jim?" Blair asked, his heart skipping a beat as he remembered that Derek knew exactly what he and Jim really were. "Yeah, he's, uh, he's fine."

          "Well, if you would like to invite him to come along, feel free. After all, he might be interested."

          Blair's eyes rounded slightly. "Uh, okay. I'll ask him, see if he can get some time off."

          "Good. Just let me know whether to send one ticket or two within the next few days. Derek at lunafoundation – one word – dot o-r-g."

"I will."

"Well, have a good afternoon… Dr. Sandburg."

          Derek hung up and Blair returned the receiver to its cradle, his pride a little puffed at hearing Rayne call him "Dr. Sandburg" and "the leading expert on sentinels." He leaned back in his chair, basking in the warm glow it triggered in his chest. But it faded rapidly. "That was actually kind of weird," he said softly a few moments later.

Inviting him to Bulgaria made sense; he was, after all, the expert on sentinels. But why invite Jim, too? _Just because he's a sentinel? Or is there something going on that Derek thinks he might need a sentinel for?_

That thought left him a little worried. He had the distinct impression that Derek Rayne was used to dealing with just about anything. So, if Rayne thought he might need a sentinel. _Oh, man, don't even go there_, he told himself. _That is waaaay too scary_.

But Rayne had always been a little eccentric. _Maybe it's nothing_ , he thought. _Hell, why shouldn't I invite Jim to come along?_ _He might get a kick out of it_.

In either case, he'd ask and see what Jim wanted to do. But he was definitely going to push him in the "going" direction as best he could.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim and Blair sat at the dining table, eating supper while Sandburg described – in great detail – the call he'd received from Rayne earlier that day, and the offer the man had made.

"So, what do you think?" he asked when he was done.

          "Sounds interesting. I think you should go," Jim replied, reaching over to spear another slice of tomato off the serving plate and moving it to his own.

          "You don't want to come along?"

          Jim looked up, his expression amused. Sandburg looked honestly disappointed. "What would I do in Bulgaria? I'd just be in the way."

          Blair didn't have an immediate answer, but then he argued, "There should be plenty to do, Jim. Museums to see, things like that… you can experience the culture, the people. And it's close to Greece and Turkey. The Mediterranean, too, and–"

          "Whoa, hold on," the detective said, holding up his hand to stop the travelogue he knew was about to begin. "I can see why you'd enjoy all that stuff, but–"

          "Hey, you might, too," Sandburg interrupted right back. " _If_ you'd give it a chance. This translation that Derek sent me? It's so incredible. I mean, it's fantastic! And if it's authentic – and there's no reason to think it's not, given the circumstances of the discovery – it opens up a whole new aspect of the Sentinel and Guide relationship that I've gotta check out. That alone should make the trip interesting to you."

          "You're the Ph.D., Chief, not me," Jim said with a huffed laugh.

          "Come on, Jim. Besides, what're you going to do without me around for two weeks?"

          Ellison's eyes rounded slightly as he tried to look innocent. "Enjoy the peace and quiet?"

          Blair shot the detective an "oh, please" look. "I'm _serious_."

          "So am I," Jim countered. "I'll be fine. There's plenty going on at–"

          "I don't know, Jim. Two weeks is a _long_ time. What if something comes up? I'm not sure you should be out there without me."

          It was Jim's turn to shoot his Guide an "oh, please" look with an added snort for emphasis. "I'm 'out there' on my own most of the time these days. I don't need a babysitter any more."

          "I know that," Blair said. "You've come a long way in five years. Amazing progress, in my opinion. But, Jim, I'm still around if anything should happen…" He trailed off, then launched right back in. "I mean, yeah, you've come a long way. Honestly. And I know you've got your senses under control these days – most of the time – but what if something out of the ordinary _should_ happen? You know, an out-of-the-blue kind of deal. What then?"

          Jim sighed. Okay, so Sandburg had a valid point. He always knew his guide was close by when he was working. Bulgaria wasn't close by. And if anything should go wrong, he could blow his cover for good. Not to mention get himself, and maybe someone else, killed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I don't know, I guess I could probably get some time off…"

          Blair grinned. "You'll have a _great_ time! Really."

          "I seriously doubt that," Jim muttered.

          "Your passport up to date?"

          Jim nodded. "We had to make that trip down to Panama last year, remember?"

          "Yeah, that's right. I forgot about that. But I'll still have to call and see if we need to get any particular shots before we go."

          "Great," Jim replied, a sour look on his face. "Think I changed my mind."

          "Oh, come on, Jim. It's just a little needle."

          "Says you," Jim countered. "So, tell me more about this ancient sentinel they think they found."

          Blair sat up a little straighter, automatically shifting into "professor mode" without even realizing it. "Well, it appears that there might have been a sentinel and a guide in this particular area of the country. The story that was translated actually refers to a 'guardian of the people' and his 'companion.' And the guardian was described as having been 'touched by

the gods.' He was stronger than the other men in the village, could see like

a bird, that kind of a thing. But over time the guardian stopped protecting the people and started taking advantage of them instead. He even forced them to start paying tribute to him. You know, the usual stuff – gold, food, goats, a virginal daughter now and then."

          "You're just pulling my leg about the virginal daughters, right?"

          Blair shook his head. "He really did."

          "Do I want to know what he did with them?"

          Blair grinned. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe better. You're the sentinel, man. What would _you_ do with them?"

          "Send them home," Jim replied emphatically. He took another bite of his chicken, then glanced up, looking interested, which was all that was necessary to prompt Sandburg to go on.

          "Anyway, this is the cool part. There was someone living in the community who knew this guardian and his companion – a scholar, or historian, or something… maybe an early priest. Anyway, he– We do know it was a man, which makes sense, women– Uh, never mind. Anyway, this guy seemed to think that it was the _companion_ who was responsible for the guardian going bad – corrupted him right into the tyrant's hall of fame.

"See, the companion told the guardian that he wasn't just _touched_ by the gods, he _was_ a god, and he deserved to be treated like one."

          Jim took a sip of his water before he said, "So, if you start telling me I'm some kind of a Greek god, I should know better than to listen to you, right?"

          Blair snorted. "Like _that'll_ ever happen. Anyway, this went on for a long, long time. But the people in the village and the surrounding area finally got fed up with it and they hired some men from outside the region to come and kill them both – very, very slowly."

"Did they? Die slow."

"I don't know. The manuscript was incomplete. Maybe we'll find the rest while we're there," Blair said, grinning.

Jim sighed heavily. How had he let himself get talked into this? He shook his head – another walk in the Sandburg Zone. _You'd think I'd get used to it_.

But Ellison had to admit that some time off sounded very good. Still, he wasn't sure he wanted to spend it poking around caves in Bulgaria. Or wherever it was they hid old books in those days.

"Just one thing, Chief. I've got to get the Hauf case wrapped up before I can leave," Jim cautioned. "The man's a real threat and Simon wants him off the street A-S-A-P. Before he pulls another gig here in Cascade."

"All right. As soon as I'm done with the edits to my paper, I'd be happy to help. It should only take me a few more hours, at most, to get it wrapped up. With luck, I can do that tomorrow morning, drop by and check on the shots, and then meet you at the station." To cement the deal, he gave Jim "the look."

When the silence stretched for several seconds, Ellison glanced up from his plate. "Stop with the puppy face," the detective growled, then finished off the last bite of his tomato. He looked up again. "I said stop already. I'll go. I said I'll go, I'll go. I'm going. Okay? Happy now?"

Sandburg smiled triumphantly. "You're gonna have a great time."

"If I don't, you're on latrine duty for a _month_ when we get back."

Blair made a face, but agreed, "All right. But I know you're gonna love it, so I'm not going to even worry about it."

"We'll see."

"We will. But you'll love it."

"I better."

"You will."

"Maybe…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Haagen Health Center

 **Rainier** **University**

**Day Two**

 

          In the overcrowded waiting room, Sandburg sat, reading over the manuscript translation Derek had sent him for the eighth time. He'd almost committed it to memory, but then, it was completely captivating. Whoever the observer had been, he certainly had had an eye for details, and the translator had carefully reproduced them in well-chosen English.

He glanced up, checking the clock on the wall yet again: ten to two. He glanced around. _Why are all these people here?_ he wondered. Then he knew. _Spring Break!_ A quarter of the student body at the university would probably be heading out of the country for a week of unending parties and alcohol in a few days.

He shook his head. _I should've remembered. This might take forever!_

After finally getting his doctorate last year, Blair had quickly accepted a post-doctorate position at Rainier, doing research for a tenured professor so he could continue working with Jim. But not having to teach any classes for a couple of semesters meant that he'd quickly lost touch with the regular ebb and flow of the academic year.

Sighing, he went back to the translation, determined to have it completely memorized before he flew to Bulgaria. He was interrupted a few moments later when someone reached out and tugged on the pages. He looked up, then grinned.

"Skye," he greeted her, standing, "where have you been?" He gave the petite young woman with short red hair and large green eyes a warm hug that was eagerly returned.

She stepped back and grinned back at him as he sat back donw, saying, "Well, Ireland, Scotland and Wales, mostly."

"How did it go?"

She shrugged, taking the seat next to him. "I'm not sure yet. We're still crunching the data, but I think we're going to be able to establish that some of the early Celtic knot art was introduced by artisans from the Middle East. The trade drift is pretty telling."

"Great!" Blair replied. "I look forward to seeing the paper when you get it done. Are you back in Cascade for a while?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I'm leaving for a dig in Norway right after Spring Break. I'm just back for a couple of weeks to defend my dissertation and move the rest of my stuff out of my old apartment and into my parents' garage."

"Defense?" Blair rolled his eyes and shuddered dramatically. Her suddenly worried expression caused him to laugh. "I'm just teasing. It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected, and you've got better people on your committee than I did. Should be a breeze."

"I hope you're right," she replied. "I've been a wreck since I handed out the final draft to my entire committee. I just want this to be over with – _now_."

"You'll do fine," he assured her with a chuckle. "But if it helps, I was the same way. Man, you should hear some of the dreams I had the week before the defense."

"You, too?" she asked, looking relieved.

Blair nodded. "They were _bad_. I was a complete basket case by the time I actually got to the defense, but it really did go a lot better than I expected. I kind of enjoyed it."

"I hope I can say the same thing," she said. "So, what're you doing here? You're not sick, are you? And aren't you working with Dr. Heyes now? Is he still working on the ancient Northwest tribes?"

Blair nodded, saying, "Yeah, he is, and I am working with him. Post-doc stuff. But I'm going to Bulgaria for a couple of weeks to do some of my own research. I'm just here to get a couple of booster shots."

"Boosters, huh? Me, too – for Norway. Bulgaria? That must be sentinel-related."

"What else?" he grinned.

"Sandburg? Blair Sandburg?" a young woman called.

"Gotta go," Blair said, standing. "Hey, let's get together for coffee or a drink after the defense, okay?"

"I'd like that," Skye said, nodding. "Still at the same number?"

"Yep," Blair called back, already on his way over to the work-study student, who led him out of the waiting room and through the halls to a small room that had been set up for the rush of vaccinations.

"Have a seat behind that screen. Someone will be with you shortly," she instructed.

"No problem. Thanks."

"We're a little swamped. But it shouldn't be too much longer," the student said, then turned and left.

Blair stepped around the screen she'd indicated, noting that there were at least four other cubicles that had been created using screens

positioned in the room to ensure privacy for the other students. He sat down on the plastic chair, then removed his flannel shirt, shoving it and the pages he'd been reading into his backpack. When no one arrived after a couple of minutes, he dug out the sheets and went back to reading about the guardian and companion who had terrorized their small community centuries earlier.

Several more minutes passed before an attractive thirty-something nurse finally stepped in to join him. She smiled tiredly and picked up the form Blair had filled out earlier. "Sorry about the delay. One of my patients passed out and I had to check on him. So, it looks like you're traveling to Russia?"

"Bulgaria," he replied.

"That sounds like it would be interesting," she replied, her back to him as she prepped his injections.

"It's a research trip."

When she turned back she was holding the shot gun.

Blair swallowed hard. "The gun?" he almost squeaked.

She nodded. "Four shots. This way you get them all in one zap."

"Great," he replied, trying hard to smile and failing.

"I know it's not much fun, but it is quicker, and you've seen the line we've got out there."

"Spring Break," he said, nodding.

"Now, just relax as much as you can. If you're tense this can tear the skin."

Sandburg drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing the muscles in his arm to soften.

"Okay, here we go," the nurse said, lifting the gun and taking aim.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair woke slowly, his head pounding and his vision slightly fuzzy. He reached up to rub his eyes, but stopped when he felt a sharp pain stab through in his upper arm.

          "Ah, you're awake."

          Rolling his head to the right, he looked up at an older woman dressed in a white uniform and wearing a white sweater. "What's going on?"

          The woman smiled kindly at him. "Everything is perfectly fine. Do you remember where you are?"

          Blair glanced around. It looked like he was still at the Health Center. "Haagen?"

          "Yes," the nurse replied. "You came in–"

          "To get my shots updated," he finished for her. "I'm going to Bulgaria for a couple of weeks."

          "You passed out when the nurse shot you."

          "The shot gun," Blair groaned, remembering the horrible device. "But–?"

          "Now, don't feel ashamed, it happens all the time. Do you think you can sit up?"

          Blair nodded, but he allowed her to help him, the headache making him a little dizzy as soon as he started moving. Then, sitting on the edge of the gurney he sucked in a few deep breaths, his vision slowly clearing, although the steady, hard pounding in his head remained. He glanced around, spotting his backpack and the translation sitting on a nearby countertop.

          "Feeling a little better?" the nurse asked, patting his shoulder.

          His cheeks turned rosy. "Yeah… I feel like an idiot."

"Well, don't. Many a student and professor alike has been done in by that miserable gun. I'm going to get you some juice, dear. When you're done, if you're feeling better, you can leave. Apple or orange?"

"Apple. Thank you," Blair said, then watched her walk over to a small refrigerator and bring back a carton like the Red Cross provided when he donated blood. He sat, sipping the juice and thinking. No way he was telling Jim that he'd passed out. He'd _never_ hear the end of it, especially after he'd teased Jim about the man's dislike of needles.

 _Needles_ _I can handle_ , Blair thought. _But that gun…_ He shuddered. He'd never had to face the shot gun before, and he fervently hoped he never would again. He glanced down. There was a good-sized bandage taped to his upper arm.

"Damn," he breathed, knowing it must have torn his skin up pretty bad to require that large a bandage. _That's why it hurt when I moved my_

 _arm earlier_ , he realized. _Man, I should've told her to use my other arm. It's going to hurt for days!_

He leaned over and grabbed his backpack, pulling out his flannel shirt and slipping it on to cover the bandage. Hopefully Jim wouldn't notice and ask about it. Then he picked up the translation, reading some more while he finished off the juice.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim looked up as soon as he heard Sandburg step off the elevator. He waited until Blair entered the Bull Pen, then gestured him over to the desk they shared.

          "What's up?" the detective asked, noting the slight odor of blood and antiseptic that clung to his guide.

          Blair looked a little confused, then said, "I told you I'd drop by and see if you needed any help with the paperwork when I got through at the university. I'm all wrapped up – edits done, shots done. Well, I still have to drop off my final travel stuff tomorrow, but that's it. The secretary who handles that was off today."

          Jim's eyes widened slightly. "And you're here, volunteering to do paperwork?"

          Blair rolled his eyes. "Jim, I always end up doing the paperwork."

          "I know, but you don't usually volunteer to do it."

          Blair sighed. "Do you need my help or not?"

          Ellison grinned. "Yeah, sure. In fact, I'd appreciate it. I need to make some calls, see if any of my snitches tracked Hauf down." He slid over so he could use the phone on the far end of the desk, and to give Sandburg room to work.

          Blair pulled a chair over and sat down at the computer. "Paperwork all you have left?"

          "Yeah. Beside bringing in Hauf. But there's a snitch out there who can help me run this guy to ground before we go – I know it. So, if you get the paperwork done, I'll make some calls and we can spend tomorrow looking for Hauf."

          Blair nodded, starting to type. He paused, a sharp stab stinging his arm. _Oww! Man, that gun is even worse than I thought…_ "Sure, no problem," he said, wondering briefly if admin-types made more or less than a post-doc.

          "Got your shots, huh?" Jim asked, studying his Guide. That would explain the smells. But something felt wrong, and he wasn't sure why.

          "Yeah," Blair said, trying to sound distracted so Jim wouldn't pursue the conversation.

          "Everything go okay?"

"Yeah. Sure. Fine."

          "Really?"

          "Yeah. Oh, I have to drop that travel stuff off before ten tomorrow. If I'm late she'll have a fit. _Then_ I can help you with Hauf."

          Jim nodded and reached for the phone. If something was bothering Sandburg, he'd eventually tell him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 **Rainier** **University**

**Day Three**

 

          "Dr. Sandburg."

          Blair turned, his eyes widening in surprise. "Uh, Nick, right?"

          The dark-haired young man stepped closer, extending his hand. "Yeah. Nick Boyle."

          "Yeah, that's right," Blair said, shaking the man's proffered hand. One of Derek Rayne's coworkers at the Luna Foundation. An ex-Navy SEAL, if he remembered correctly. And Boyle knew that he and Jim were guide and sentinel, having been on the campus with Derek when Jim had been possessed by an ancient sentinel who'd gone insane.[2] "Nice to see you. But what're you doing here?"

          "To be honest, I came by to see you," Nick replied. "But it looks like you're on the way out. Is this a bad time?"

          "Uh, yeah, kind of. I just dropped by to finish my travel papers for the trip to Bulgaria."

          Nick nodded. "Yeah, Derek told me you'd be going. How about your… partner? Is he going, too?"

          "Yeah, Jim's going, too. In fact, he's supposed to pick me up in fifteen so we can wrap up a case he's working on. He says it has to be done before he can leave."

          "Can you spare a few minutes?" Nick asked, then promised, "It won't take long."

          Blair studied the man's serious expression for a moment, then nodded, wondering what was going on. Curiosity overcame his hesitation. Jim would wait for him. "Sure." He unlocked his door, then led the way into his office. Sitting down at his desk, he gestured for Nick to have a seat in the comfortable, padded leather chair next to his desk.

Nick shut the door, then sat.

"What can I do for you?" Blair asked.

Nick took a deep breath, then looked up and asked, "What do you know about doppelgangers?"

          Blair's eyes rounded slightly. _Okay, that came out of left field…_ "Well, they're supposedly supernatural beings – ghostly doubles or wraiths of a living person, right?"

          Nick nodded.

          "But they're not real. I mean, they're just part of our collective mythology."

          The Legacy member smiled thinly. "Like sentinels?"

          Blair hiked his eyebrows and shrugged a shoulder. _Okay, you have me there. Funny, I never thought of myself or Jim as a myth, but I guess we are… sort of_. "Why do you ask?"

          Nick leaned back, getting more comfortable, then said, "Last week, one of the Luna Foundation's… sister organizations in Seattle was infiltrated by what we think might have been a doppelganger."

          "But I thought these things didn't look human. I mean, they do look human, but they're supposedly, you know, kind of misty and… non-corporeal. A shadow of a real person, not something you'd think _was_ a real person."

          "Yeah, that's what the legends say, but this one looked perfectly human. And it managed to fool the rest of the people working there long enough to kill them."

          "Kill them?"

          Nick nodded. "Four members of the organization were murdered. Luckily one lasted long enough to leave a note stating who the killer was. But a couple of days later, the local police found the body of the supposed killer. He'd been dead for at least two days _before_ the murders occurred."

"Wow," Blair breathed, a cold chill snaking down his back. "So you think it was the dead man's doppelganger who murdered his coworkers?"

          Nick nodded.

          "Was he having trouble at work? I mean, why would his double want to kill his coworkers?"

          "We have no idea. They all got along fine as far as anyone knows, had for a number of years."

          "Couldn't it be someone who just looked like the dead man?"

          Nick shook his head. "Security's pretty tight at the building. The double had to pass a retinal scan."

          "That can't be done."

          "Exactly."

          "So, that leaves you with a supernatural killer." Blair paused, meeting the man's gaze. "But why come to me? I'm no expert in the field, although I could–"

          "I was wondering if you'd heard about something similar taking place here in Cascade."

          Blair shook his head. "No, I haven't heard anything on the news. And I've been getting ready for the trip so I haven't been around the station much. I could ask Jim. He would've heard something if there's a buzz going around."

          "I'd appreciate it; if you wouldn't mind."

          "But why Cascade?"

          "The state authorities are still trying to find the double. The last sighting they had was from Cascade. I thought maybe something similar might have happened here. I'm just trying to establish a pattern, if I can."

          "The double's in Cascade?"

          Nick nodded. "Well, the Seattle police think so. I tried talking to someone from the Cascade PD public relations office earlier this morning, but they weren't very helpful."

          "Yeah, okay, I'll ask Jim about it. The detectives hear all the gossip. What's this guy's name? Uh, the original's, I mean. The guy the double looks like."

          "Martin Greenley. The Seattle authorities are convinced he has an identical twin, and that's who they're looking for. Or that Greenley killed his twin and is on the run himself. But neither is possible. We interviewed someone who was there when Martin Greenley was born. He was an only child."

          "Weird. Okay, I'll see what I can find out. Is there a number where I can reach you?"

          Nick fished into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a Luna Foundation business card. Turning it over, he noted down his cell phone number using a pen from a ceramic cup setting on Sandburg's desk, then handed it to Blair.

"I appreciate it."

          "Sure, no problem."

          Nick left and Blair locked his office again, then headed out to meet Jim, his mind deconstructing the encounter. _So, Nick came to me because he knew I could ask Jim to check into this Martin Greenley guy_ , he reasoned. _That makes sense. So why do I feel like there was more to it than that?_

          Outside there was no sign of Jim, so Blair pulled the translation out and started reading, immediately losing himself in the old tale. He looked up when he heard a car horn.

Jim pulled up to the curb and Blair climbed in, already lost in the text again before they were off campus.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

## Day Four

 

          Dr. Axton strode into the Washington state laboratory. "What the devil's going on?" he demanded loudly.

          Two of the technicians quickly hurried away, leaving the head researcher alone with Axton. He shuffled up to the white-haired man, his trembling hands held close to his chest. "Doctor, we, uh, we have a situation."

          "Tell me what's happened," Axton commanded, his blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

          "One of the clones, sir. It, uh, it's gone."

          "Gone?" the question was soft, but piercing. "Which one?"

          "One of the Cascade samples. We had just completed the growth cycles on both Cascade clones and were about to begin the final personality downloads–"

          "What happened?"

          "There was an, uh, an unexpected– a high degree of independent personality development in the male sample."

          "Impossible," Dr. Axton snapped. "There can be no personality development until we've downloaded all of the necessary information to the cortical chips."

          "I know, sir, but–"

          "Something must have gone wrong. You must have been downloading the final personality data stream during the last stages of development without even realizing it."

          "No, sir, we're very careful. The protocols–"

          "There can be no personality without the complete data set!" Axton roared.

          "Yes sir, but–"

          "Have security locate the clone and bring it back here. We need to find out what happened. If they are unable to capture it, it must be destroyed. Was it infected?"

          "No, sir, we hadn't time."

          Axton shook his head. "Check the computers. Find out what you did wrong."

          "Yes, sir, but I have, sir – three times. It was a completely standard development cycle. Whatever personality the clone evolved, it did so on its own."

          "That is impossible, Dr. Natter. Notify me when it has been returned. And check the logs again, and again if you need to, until you have an answer." Axton turned, then swung back to scowl at the man. "And what of the rogue Seattle clone?"

          "It has been found and destroyed, sir."

          "Excellent. The contagion?"

          "The first cases should begin to develop in two to three days."

          "Well, that, at least, is good news."

          "Yes, sir. But the four killings?"

          "They will remain a mystery with the clone gone, another sign of the degeneration of the human race. But the manifestation of aggression must also be a flaw in your programming."

          "Yes, sir," the man replied, but he knew that was _not_ the case. There was something more going on with the clones than they'd anticipated. Something they could neither predict nor control.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Day Five

 

          After two full days spent tracking down several of the detective's more reluctant snitches, Jim and Blair sat in their newest vehicle, a metallic olive-green Outback that faded nicely into the late-night shadows, waiting to see if Gunder Hauf would arrive at the Pink Pussycat to pick up his girlfriend when she got off work like one of the informants had promised he would.

The stripper worked the six to midnight shift and it was already ten minutes past the "witching" hour.

          Jim sipped on his convenience store coffee and watched the Pussycat's various patrons as they came and went. Blair sat in the passenger side seat, a small book light illuminating the pages of the translation and an old textbook that described the ancient peoples of the Rhodope Mountains. Occasionally he turned the loose pages over and scribbled notes on the backs.

          "Heads up, Chief," Jim said, setting the coffee in the car's cupholder. "This looks like him."

          Blair turned off the small light and set the book and papers on the floorboards. Peering out at the car that had just arrived, he watched as a

thirty-something man climbed out from behind the wheel. Hauf was tall, but very thin, the ravages of a lifetime of heroin use having taken their toll. Long, stringy blond hair hung to the middle of the man's back.

          "Okay, you stay here," Jim said. "He can be unpredictable from what I've read."

          "Be careful," Blair cautioned as Ellison climbed out of the car, the sentinel's senses already focusing on the man and any danger he might pose.

Sandburg watched, his heart beating a little faster as it always did when he knew Jim was walking into a dangerous situation. Then he felt his skin prickle and a flash of agony exploded at the center of his brain. He gasped sharply, his hand immediately going to his head, trying to rub the pain away with his fingertips.

          "Damn," he breathed softly.

          The piercing throb faded quickly, but it left the anthropologist feeling slightly disorientated. He glanced out at Jim, but the detective was just standing in the middle of the street, his hands over his ears. Hauf was nowhere in sight.

          Climbing clumsily out of the car, Blair hurried over to Jim, wishing his stomach didn't feel like it was about to rebel over the movement. Maybe he was coming down with something. Or maybe it was a delayed reaction to the shots. The paperwork he'd been given at the time had mentioned something about that possibility. He'd have to check it out when he got home.

          "Jim?" Blair said as he reached the man. Ellison's eyes were squeezed shut, his hands still cupped protectively over his ears. "Jim? What's wrong?" Reaching out, he gently touched the man's arm. "Hey, what's going on? Talk to me, man."

          Lost in the mind-numbing assault of unchecked sensory input Jim moaned softly. Somewhere in the shambles of his consciousness he could feel a tug toward the shadows that crowded closer and closer to the edges of his reality. But in the eye of the confusion that swirled around and through him Jim could also sense his guide.

He reached out tentatively for Blair, mentally grasping onto the sound of the man's voice. The individual words were lost to the tumult that still roared in his mind, but he followed the sound, using it like a rope to pull himself back to reality.

Jim carefully pulled his hands away from his ears, then cracked his eyes open. "Did you see that?" he whispered, rubbing his forehead.

          "See what?"

          "Hauf must've used some kind of strobe light. I was using my sight to check whether he was carrying or not, and all of a sudden I was blinded by a bright light. Then it was like I was suddenly aware of every sensory detail. I had to pull back… I guess I zoned-out."

          Blair frowned. "I didn't see any lights, Jim. Maybe it was just the door to the club opening. If you were over-focused on–"

          "I'm telling you, this was bright, _really_ bright." He rubbed his temples. "And now I've got the mother of all headaches."

          "Come on," Blair said, reaching out to press his hand to the middle of Jim's back, guiding him back to the Outback. "Let's go home. Maybe we can figure out what happened."

          "But–"

          "Come on, Jim, you're not in any condition to confront Hauf right now, even if we could find him again."

          Ellison stopped. Hauf's car was still parked where he'd left it. He glanced over his shoulder to the door to the club. "I just want to see if he's in there."

          "Jim–"

          The detective turned and started for the door. "You coming?"

          Blair sighed, his own head still pounding like a wild drummer was loose inside his skull. "Yeah, I'm coming."

          Together the two men searched the club, but Hauf and his girlfriend were both gone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Back at the loft, Blair fixed them each a cup of herbal tea, carrying both in to where Jim was lying, stretched out on the sofa. "Here you go," he said.

          The detective sat up slowly, then took the proffered cup and tried a sip. "Thanks," he said.

          "You're welcome," Sandburg replied as he sat down next to Jim. "So, let's talk about what happened out there tonight."

          "Hell if I know, Chief. It was like some kind of… sensory overload."

          "Tell me what you do remember. All of it."

          Jim sighed, then took another sip of the tea. He settled back against the couch, cradling the cup in his hands. Staring down into the pale, cinnamon-colored liquid he said, "Okay, I spotted Hauf when he drove up from the description and witness sketch we got from the Sacramento PD. I put my coffee down, told you to stay put, then got out of the car and started over to him."

          "Yeah, I saw all that. What happened next? Concentrate on recalling the details."

          Ellison closed his eyes, his brow furrowing with concentration. "He was wearing a black leather jacket – kinda loose. I wanted to know if he was carrying a gun. I focused on that. But I knew I had to keep an ear out for traffic because I was in the street."

          "So your hearing was focused to protect you, to let you know if any cars were coming…"

          Jim nodded.

          "And your sight was zooming in on Hauf's coat, looking for the outline of a gun."

          "Right. But I never got that far. I mean, I never found out if he had a gun or not. He zapped me with that damned light and–"

          "Whoa, slow down there, Flash," Blair instructed. "Go back. And concentrate. You started to zoom in on the jacket… what's the very next thing you saw?"

          A small sigh let Sandburg know that Jim would go along, but he wasn't enjoying it.

          "Come on Jim, this is important. Picture the scene in your mind… You're standing in the street. Hauf's just gotten out of his car. Your hearing is tuned to the road noise. You focus in on the man's jacket. Now, walk the images forward in slow motion, like a frame by frame. Look for the anomalies – something out of the ordinary."

          "I'm closing in on the jacket… I can see the grain… I can smell it… I– There's movement," Jim said, his brow wrinkling deeper with confusion. "I can see something reflected in the window of Hauf's car."

"What is it?" Blair asked. "Just concentrate on that image and focus. What do you see?"

"Someone's standing behind me… across the street, but I can't make out who it is."

          "Why can't you see who it is?"

          "There's a flash of light as soon as I see him."

          "It's a man?"

          "Yes."

          "Where did the light come from? The door to the club?"

          "No," the Sentinel said, his tone sure. "I can't tell where it came from. It just explodes in front of my eyes and I can't see anything. My head felt like it was going to explode… I lost control of my hearing, and then everything was coming in at me – the music from the club, the sounds of people breathing, bugs crawling around, the feel of the wind… I could taste the brine from the ocean." He made a face.

          "We were miles away from the coast," Blair challenged.

          "I know, but I could still taste it – strong, salty. For a moment it felt like I was going to spin out of control… And there was something else there… something pulling at me. But then I heard you talking to me… I couldn't understand the words you were saying, but I could hear your voice."

          "What happened next?"

          "I focused on that, onto your voice. It was like a lifeline, I guess. Then I was fine. Things were back to normal, except for the headache."

          "So basically you followed the sound of my voice, and that brought you out of the zone-out, just like usual."

          "No, I don't think so. I mean, it didn't feel like a usual zone-out," Jim said, then shook his head. "I don't know." He opened his eyes and looked at Blair. "What the hell happened?"

          "I'm not sure," Blair admitted. "But I did have this flash of a monster headache in the car. It was _bad_ , but just for a second or two. Now it's just… bad. When I got out of the car I was feeling pretty sick to my stomach, too. Maybe you picked up on that somehow."

          "Maybe," Jim echoed, but he sounded doubtful. "But nothing quite like that's ever happened before, and you've been sick a few times."

          "Yeah, I know," Sandburg replied, trying to come up with a better explanation, but failing to find one. "I'm honestly not sure what happened. Maybe it was just a fluke."

          "I guess," Jim said. "But tomorrow I'm going to find Hauf – one way or another. Seven million dollars are missing from that armored car he hijacked in California, and they think he's here to try it again."

          Blair nodded. "Okay, sounds good. But maybe we should both get some sleep now, see if we feel better in the morning. I don't know about you, but my head's still killing me."

          "Yeah, mine too," Jim agreed.

          "The tea should help."

          "I'm going to take some Aleve," Jim added. "You should too."

          "Yeah," Sandburg agreed, but only half-heartedly. He hated taking over-the-counter medications. "I think I might this time."

          "It _must_ be bad," Jim said, staring worriedly at his guide.

          "I'll be fine. I just need some sleep."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Later that same day, sentinel and guide spent what was left of the late-morning and early-afternoon hours chasing down the snitch who had tipped them off to Hauf's girlfriend. Just after two they finally found the man and pressured the lead they needed out of him: an address for Hauf's girlfriend, Candice Dawl, otherwise known on the strip club circuit as "Candy Doll."

          Jim drove, parking across the street from the apartment building where Ms. Dawl lived. "Hey, Chief, think you can put that down long enough to go see if she's listed? I know Hauf must've gotten a good look at me last night and I don't want to scare him off."

          Blair glanced up from scribbling on the back of another page of the translation. "Sorry, man. I'm just trying to come up with all my questions _before_ we leave."

          "If we don't find Hauf, we won't be leaving," Jim reminded him.

          "I know. I know." He set the book and papers aside, then climbed out and jogged across the street. At the building, he checked the names on the directory posted near the bank of outside mailboxes.

"She's here. Apartment 224," he said softly, knowing that Jim would be listening.

          He watched the Outback pull away from the curb. Jim drove halfway down the block, then made a U-turn and came back, parking a second time just far enough up the street that he couldn't be seen from someone standing at one of the apartment windows, then climbed out.

Blair waited after Jim disappeared behind a hedge. The detective finally joined him a few minutes later. He had no idea how Jim had gotten from the car to the building. _Must be Army Ranger magic_. "Neat trick. No one's left the building."

          Jim nodded. "Okay, you wait here. I'll go see if anyone's home."

          "Uh, Jim, remember the last time? I think I'd better go with you."

          Ellison considered, then nodded, even though he wasn't too happy with the idea. "All right, but I want you to stay out of the line of fire."

          "Hey, so do I, believe me," Blair assured him.

          Inside the building, they took the stairs to the second floor. "This way," Jim said when they stepped out into the hall, his sentinel-sight quickly locating the woman's room number. Then he shook his head.

          "What's wrong?" Blair asked, his headache beginning to flare up again.

          "My head's starting to hurt again."

          "Yeah, mine, too," Blair admitted. "This is like, so weird. Contagious headaches?"

          "Worry about it later, Chief," Jim instructed as they made their way to the door of Candy's apartment, but before he could knock, Jim took a step back, his hands coming up to shield his eyes.

"Ah, damn," the detective hissed.

          "Jim?"

          "Where's that light coming from?"

          "Jim, there's no light, man."

          "Yes, there is. I can't see anything."

          "Jim, there's nothing," Blair assured him, rubbing at his own temple. "Just dial back your sight, man."

          "I'm trying," Jim growled.

          Realizing that Jim might be in more trouble than he'd first imagined, Blair grabbed the detective by his shoulders and guided him farther down the hall, then around the corner. He leaned Jim back against the wall. Ellison's hands were pressed tightly over his eyes.

          "What's going on with you?" Blair asked. "Tell me what you see."

          "Light, just a blinding light."

          "What color is it?"

          "White."

          "Uh, okay, look," Blair said, his stomach starting to rebel. "Take a deep breath, okay? Relax."

          Jim sucked in a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out in a rush. A second and a third followed that.

          An apartment door opened and a young woman carrying a baby stepped out into the hallway. She looked at the two men. "Is he okay?" she asked, her tone cautious but concerned.

          "Hi," Blair said, with a smile. "Look, can I borrow your phone?" He dug into his pocket for the plastic identification card the Cascade PD had given him. "I'm Blair Sandburg, a police observer. And this is Detective James Ellison. I need to call for some backup, okay?"

          "Uh, sure," she said, turning back to unlock her door. She stepped just inside and pointed. Blair flashed her a grateful smile as he passed.

He dialed Simon's office, the captain answering on the second ring.

"Banks."

          "Simon, it's Blair. Look, I need some backup."

          "What's wrong? Is Jim hurt?"

          "I don't think so, but his senses are kind of screwed up," he said, dropping his voice so the woman couldn't hear him. "We found Gunder Hauf, but I don't think Jim's in any shape to arrest him."

          "Where are you?"

          "1971 Greenglen Drive. Apartment 224."

          "I'll have a unit over there ASAP. Don't do anything stupid. And don't let Jim, either."

          "Thanks, Simon. And I'll do my best." Blair hung up, then hurried back to the open apartment door. "Thanks," he said to the woman, who had remained in the doorway, just in case. "And I think you'd better stay inside for a little while."

          "Okay," she replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. Blair heard the lock click into place.

          Jim was still leaning against the wall, but his eyes were open and he was massaging his forehead with his fingertips.

"Jim?"

"I'm okay," Ellison said softly, sounds ringing a little louder than normal in his ears. "The light's gone."

"My head still hurts," Blair told him. "Yours?"

"Like someone's in there with a pickax and a mission to dig his way to China."

Blair smiled thinly despite the pain. "Yeah, I know the feeling. I called Simon. They're sending a unit over to pick up Hauf."

Jim nodded. "Good idea, but we'll stay here just in case he decides to leave."

"All right, but Simon said we shouldn't do anything stupid. We're not going to, are we?"

          "Not unless we have to."

          "Great. Why doesn't that comfort me, man?"

          Jim shrugged.

Five minutes later two officers arrived. Jim handed over the warrant, then he and Sandburg watched as they broke into the apartment and arrested the armed robber. When they drove off with him, sentinel and guide also headed back to the station to complete the paperwork necessary to send the man back to California.

However, when they arrived back at the precinct Simon gestured for them to join him in his office. They walked in and took seats, both wishing they were somewhere – anywhere – else.

"So, what happened out there?" the captain demanded.

Jim quickly explained what had occurred to him the night before and then again at the apartment building, in general terms.

When Ellison was done, Simon looked pointedly at Sandburg and asked, "What's wrong with him?"

          "I don't know," was the immediate and honest reply.

          "Come on, Sandburg, you're the expert here, right?" Simon encouraged, sure that the two men must be hiding something from him.

          "I know, but I honestly don't have a clue. The closest thing I've seen was Jim's reaction to Lila."

          "She's dead, Sandburg," Simon said. "So, what're you saying, that there's another assassin out there who's targeting Jim?"

          "I don't think so, sir," Ellison cut in. "It was similar to that, but not the same. This is much more intense, overwhelming, really. It's like getting sucked into a… I don't know. It's just overwhelming."

          "I don't think it's an assassin either," Blair added. "But something's obviously going on."

          "No kidding," Simon stated, leveling Sandburg with a frustrated, worried glare.

          There was a knock at the door, then it opened and Detective Brown leaned into the office. "Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you might like to know: PD just got a call from Rainier. A graduate student was killed." He paused, then met Sandburg's concerned gaze. "In your office."

          " _My_ office?" Blair asked, his face paling.

          Brown nodded.

          "Come on," Jim said, standing.

          "Hold on," Simon snapped, looking at Blair. "Should he be out there?"

          "I'm fine," Jim responded for his guide, then grabbed Blair's arm and dragged him toward the door. "Let's go see what's going on."

          "It might connect somehow," Blair offered over his shoulder to Simon, who frowned, but nodded his okay.

"Keep me informed," the captain called after them.

          "We will," Blair promised, then reached up and pushed Jim's arm away. "Cut it out, man. That hurts."

          "Hurts?" Jim asked as they stepped into the Bull Pen.

          "My shots," Blair said. "They used the gun, tore my arm up a little."

          Jim winced in sympathy. "Sorry."

          Blair shrugged. "Come on, let's go see who died in my office, my _new_ office, man. This really sucks."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          At the university, Jim and Blair found the crime scene investigators already at work, a large section of the wide hallway cordoned off with police tape. The body, however, had been removed and was bagged and lying on a gurney that sat next to the wall by Blair's office door.

They ducked under the tape and approached the uniformed officer who was standing by the body. Jim stopped and showed his badge and the man nodded.

Ellison unzipped the body bag just far enough to reveal the victim's face.

          "Oh, man," Blair gulped, quickly turning away.

          "You know her?" Jim asked, his tone soft.

          Blair nodded. "Skye MacCarin. She's a Ph.D. candidate in the department. She just got back from the UK to do her defense. I saw her the other day, at Haagen, when I got my shots."

          "Hey! That's him," someone called from farther down the hallway.

          Jim looked around. A young man standing near the tape was pointing at Blair. Two other students crowded in closer to him as well, talking to an officer who was stationed to keep the crowd from slipping past the perimeter until the techs were done collecting evidence.

The officer nodded, then ducked under the tape and walked directly over to Sandburg, his hand on his revolver. "Sir, I need you to come with me," he stated.

          Blair looked up, his eyes full of unshed tears. "What?"

          "Officer," Jim said, stepping up to the pair, his badge showing. "What's going on here?"

          "Detective," the uniform acknowledged him, "this man's been identified by three separate witnesses who say they saw him leaving this office moments before the body was found."

          Jim shook his head. "That's not possible. He's been with me all morning."

          The man looked confused. "But–"

          "Hold on," Ellison interrupted, then grabbed the sleeve of a passing tech. "When did she die?"

          "Best we can tell here, a little less than an hour ago," the crime scene investigator replied.

          Jim nodded, saying, "Thanks," then turned back to the officer. "Look, an hour ago he was sitting with me in Captain Simon Banks' office. Major Crimes. He's an official observer with the department. You can call and confirm that if you want to, but your witnesses are wrong."

          The uniform looked back at Blair. "Sorry. This happens sometimes. Witnesses get confused, think they see one thing when it's really something else. The guy must've just looked like you in some way."

          Blair nodded. He waited until the man left, then asked Jim, "How'd she get into my office? I left it locked."

          "I don't know. Look, why don't we go get a cup of coffee. When forensics is done we'll check it ourselves."

          "Yeah, okay," Blair agreed, suddenly feeling cold. His skin prickled. _Probably shock_ , he decided. The coffee might help, with a bigger than usual dose of sugar.

          "You all right?" Jim asked, resting his hand gently on his guide's shoulder.

          Blair shook his head. "She was my friend, Jim. And somebody killed her in _my_ office. Why?"

          "Blair!"

          Sandburg glanced over his shoulder. A young woman was standing just beyond the police tape at the other end of the hallway. She waved at him and he walked over to join her, Jim following, his hand remaining on the younger man's shoulder for support.

          "Thank God you're okay," she said, reaching out to take Blair's hands in her own.

          "Casey," Blair greeted her. "What's going on?"

          "I don't know. When I saw the police–" She stopped and took a deep breath. "I thought it was you. After I let you in, I–"

          "Let me in?" Blair asked.

          Casey stopped, her eyes rounding with confusion. "You know, you said you left your keys at home. I unlocked your office for you and–"

          "I haven't been in today," Blair countered, his head beginning to throb again.

          "Blair, it was less than two hours ago. It was you. I mean, it looked just like you."

          Jim stepped closer, his own expression as confused as the woman's. "You let Blair into his office less than two hours ago?" he asked.

          The young woman met his eyes and nodded. "Yeah. We only talked a minute. But I let him in with my master key. I saw Skye a few minutes later…" She looked back to Blair. "She and I started talking and she said she'd seen you at Haagen." Casey smiled sadly. "I guess whatever you told her must have helped. She did great on her defense. I told her you were in your office. She was going to invite you to join up at The Sink later to celebrate…" She trailed off. Blair clearly had no idea what she was talking about. "If that wasn't you, then who was it? He looked _just_ like you. I would've sworn it _was_ you."

          "I don't know." Blair turned away.

          "That was Skye?" Casey asked.

          Sandburg nodded.

          "I'm so sorry, Blair."

          "Thanks," he said thickly.

          "Come on," Jim said, his forehead knotted with pain as he grabbed Sandburg's arm and directed him back the other direction, away from the crowd of students. The damned headache was back.

          Blair flinched, Jim's grip directly over the bandage he still wore on his arm. He looked up at the sentinel. "What?"

          "My head's killing me, and I'm starting to see flashes of light. I need to get out of here."

          "Okay, there's a quicker way," Blair said, leading the detective out of the building.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A couple of hours later, sentinel and guide were both feeling better when they returned to the crime scene. Jim cleared Sandburg's entry into his office, then gestured for Blair to enter before anyone reconsidered. Ellison stayed outside in the hall to chat with the forensics investigators who were packing up their gear.

          Inside his office, Blair glanced around, looking for anything immediately out of place. There was no blood, no signs of a struggle. Everything was right where he'd left it. Except…

          He walked over to the tall gray filing cabinet in the corner. The lock at the top was sticking out, indicating that the drawers could be opened. But he'd locked the cabinet himself before he'd left. He always did that when he was going to be away for more than a night. All of his sentinel research was carefully arranged in the five drawers and he never took any chances with it.

          The lock didn't look like it had been forced. So whoever opened it must have known the combination, but Blair knew he hadn't shared it with anyone. _What the hell's going on?_ he wondered.

Walking over to the bookcases that lined one wall of his office, Blair pulled down Sir Richard Burton's text on sentinels – the leather-bound volume, untitled on the outside, was just one of many such books sitting on the same shelf. But Sandburg knew the text well, having read it so many times that he could recite long passages verbatim.

He opened the back cover. The post-it note with the combination to the filing cabinet had been moved from its usual spot, although whoever had found it had definitely tried to put it back in the same place.

          But how could anyone have known where to find it?

          He went back and checked the drawers, thumbing through the files. Some looked like they'd been rifled through, although nothing appeared to be missing.

          He closed the last drawer and locked the cabinet again, then headed out to tell Jim about it. The detective was still talking to one of the technicians, so Blair waited until he was through before stepping up and saying, "Someone's been in my research."

          Jim's eyes rounded. "Your dissertation research?"

          Sandburg nodded.

          "Anything missing?"

          A shake of the head.

          "Why?"

          "You've got me. But whoever it was, Skye must've realized it wasn't me in those files, and he killed her."

          "They found plenty of prints. With luck, our killer left his behind."

          Blair nodded, but said sadly, "It won't bring her back."

          "I know," Jim said, giving Blair's shoulder a tender squeeze. "I'm really sorry."

          "Can we go home? I'm not feeling so good."

          "Sure," Jim said, wishing there was something he could say to help his friend through his grief, but he knew there was nothing that would ease the pain he was feeling. Nothing but time.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

## Day Six

 

          The following morning, Blair returned to Rainier. He called the Lock Shop, then waited for the man to arrive, carefully checking through his research files in the meantime. Close to lunchtime he had a new lock on his door and he'd discovered that whoever had killed Skye had also perused some of his earliest notes on Jim.

          _Thank God I've never used Jim's name in my fieldnotes_ , he thought. Ellison was always identified as "Burnett" – The Subject.

 _But why would anyone kill just to get a look at my research?_ he wondered. Not that he couldn't see the possible uses – and misuses – of Jim's enhanced senses, but it just made no sense. Most of his conclusions were already published, and anyone who wanted to could order a copy of his dissertation for a reasonable fee.

 _Unless they were specifically trying to find out who my subjects were_ , Blair concluded. _But to what end? To kidnap them? Blackmail them?_

          He sighed heavily. There was no way to know. Not until they caught the man responsible. His double. _How weird is that?_

And they only had another four days before he and Jim were supposed to fly to Bulgaria. Skye's death had taken much of the excitement out of the pending trip, but he was still looking forward to it. It would be nice to get away from Cascade for a while, let his feelings heal a little. He definitely felt responsible for the woman's death, and nothing he told himself helped in the slightest.

          He checked his watch. He was supposed to meet Jim for lunch at the Cuban restaurant over on Pine, and he'd better get going or he'd be late.

Sandburg locked his filing cabinet again, rotating the four tumblers all back to zero. Just to be sure, he checked each handle. None of the drawers opened. He turned off his lights, then carefully secured the door, double-checking that as well before heading out of the building to his car. He was about halfway across the small faculty parking lot behind the anthropology building when he saw her.

"Skye!"

Standing under a tree, the young woman turned. Her eyes went wide, then she bolted across the green lawn, disappearing around the corner of the building, her backpack slapping against her back as she ran.

Blair charged after her, but when he reached the other side of the building she was nowhere in sight. "What the devil's going on?" he asked aloud. "This is getting too damned weird."

Turning, he hurried back to his car.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim looked up from his plate. He'd arrived at Havana's on time, but Sandburg wasn't there. Taking a booth, he went ahead and ordered his lunch and an ice tea. They had just delivered his food when Blair hurried in and told him he'd seen Skye MacCarin on the Rainier campus.

"Are you _sure_ it was her?"

          "Yeah, of course I'm sure," Blair almost snapped, then dipped his head, adding, "I'm sorry, man. But this wasn't someone who looked like her. I _know_ that was Skye. She looked right at me when I called her name, too. She's hard to miss. She has a unique look."

          "What did she look like?" Jim asked. "Her expression, I mean."

          Blair thought a moment, then said, "Scared, I think, maybe surprised. I'm not exactly sure. But why did she run? And who was that in my office?"

          "You'll have to ask her about that if you see her again. Better yet, ask her what it feels like to come back from the dead." He took another bite and shook his head. "Looks like we've got two doubles now," Jim mused.

          Blair's eyes widened the moment before he slapped his hand against the tabletop. Several patrons in the small restaurant jumped and looked at the pair. Sandburg's shoulders hunched as he slid a little farther down in his seat, his cheeks going red.

          "What?" Jim asked, not sure if he should be mad, or worried.

          "I completely forgot!" Blair said hotly, but his voice was pitched low.

          "What?" Jim repeated, a little more forcefully this time.

          "Nick Boyle came by my office the other day."

          "Who?"

          "Boyle. You remember, the ex-Navy guy who works with Dr. Rayne."

          "Ah," Jim said with a nod. He remembered. "What did he want? Something to do with the trip?"

          "No. He said he'd been in Seattle, checking up on some murders in an institute that's tied to the Luna Foundation. One of the victims left a note

telling the police who was responsible, but when the cops found that guy's body, he'd been dead since _before_ the murders."

          Jim nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I saw the bulletin on that Martin… Green?"

          "Greenley."

          "Yeah, that was it. Wanted for multiple counts of homicide in Seattle. They tracked him to Cascade and the PD put out an APB for the guy. I haven't heard anything more about it, though. He's probably already over the border. What does this have to do with a student getting killed in your office? You think Boyle's involved?"

          "No. No way," Blair replied. "But Nick stopped by to talk to me about doppelgangers."

          "Dop-what?"

          "Doppelgangers, you know, ghostly doubles of real people."

          The sentinel leaned back as he snorted softly. "Ghosts?"

          "Look, all I'm saying is, something weird happened in Seattle, and now something weird's happening here, and it's all tied up with doubles – this Greenley guy, Skye, me."

          Jim frowned. "Maybe I should have a talk with Boyle."

          "I've got his cell phone number back at the loft."

          "Good," Jim replied. "When we get home, I'll give him a call."

          "Sounds good," Blair said. "I got the feeling he wasn't telling me everything, but I know he's not involved in the killings, so don't grill him like he's a suspect."

          The waitress arrived and took Blair's order. He quickly finished his meal once it arrived, Jim indulging in dessert while he did. Then Ellison paid the bill while Blair left the tip. They walked out to the parking lot together.

          "I'm going to stop by the Bull Pen and see if there's anything else on this Martin Greenley guy," Jim said before sliding into the Outback. "You go back to the loft and find that phone number. I'll be right behind you."

          "Will do," Blair agreed, then walked over to his own car, climbing in as Jim pulled out onto the street and headed back downtown.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Several minutes later, when Jim pulled out of the Cascade PD lot and turned to head back to the loft, he immediately spotted Blair standing across the street.

          "What the hell?" Jim muttered, craning his neck to get another look at the man. But he was sure it was Sandburg. _Maybe the kid thought of something he didn't think could wait_. "Better find out," he added softly.

          Checking the traffic, Jim pulled the Outback into a tight U-turn, speeding back up the street to where he'd seen the man, but Sandburg was gone.

          "Damn it," Jim swore softly. _Guess he didn't see me. Probably went inside_.

He pulled back into the PD parking lot, turning into the first spot he found and killed the engine. With a sigh he climbed out and headed back inside. Blair was probably headed for Major Crimes, looking for him.

          But when he reached the Bull Pen for the second time in less then ten minutes, there was still no sign of Sandburg. Frowning, Jim scooped up the phone on his desk and called home on a hunch.

          "Hello."

          "Blair?"

          "Jim? Yeah, it's me. Where are you, man?"

          "I'm in the Bull Pen. Listen, promise me you'll stay at the loft until I get there," Jim said, every internal warning bell he had suddenly going off. Something was wrong. Very, _very_ wrong. He needed to get to his guide as quickly as possible.

          "Uh, sure, man. No problem."

          "Stay put. I'm leaving now," Jim said, then hung up and headed for the door, passing Rafe on his way out.

          "Didn't you just leave a few minutes ago?" the detective asked.

          "Yeah, I did," Jim replied, but he didn't stop.

          Rafe watched the man go, then shook his head. "Must be Ellison's evil twin," he muttered to himself.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair hung up the phone, then glanced down at the business card Nick had given him in his office. Turning it over, he found the cell phone number. He picked up the receiver and dialed, getting a voice mail message.

          "Nick, hi, it's Blair Sandburg. Look, can you give me a call at home when you get this message? It's important. Thanks."

          He hung up again and yawned loudly. He was tired. But then he hadn't gotten much sleep the last couple of nights and the damned headache was coming back with a vengeance.

He stretched, then turned toward his room. It was time he got started sorting out what he'd be packing for the trip so he could do laundry. A light knock on the door stopped him just short of his room. With a sigh he went to see who it was.

"Who is it?" he called.

"A friend of Skye's."

Not thinking about what he was doing, Blair reached out and opened the door without checking to see who was there. He blinked once, staring at himself. Then sharp shards of agony exploded in his brain and he felt himself falling in a bubbling chaos.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

 

          As Jim reached the top of the stairs, a flash of bright light forced him to wince painfully, his arm coming up in an attempt to protect his eyes. But the brilliance was gone as quickly as it had come.

          Ellison frowned and hurried on to the door of the loft. He reached out and started to turn the knob, but something arced from the knob, shocking him. He jerked his hand back with a half-stifled curse. Scowling at the knob, he reached out slowly, carefully, finally tapping the tip of his finger against the cool metal. Nothing this time.

          "Blair!" he called, but there was no reply, and no one opened the door.

          With a resigned sigh, Jim slipped his key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open.

          As Jim stepped over the threshold into the loft his body was hit by a sudden, violent chill. He sucked in a hissing breath and hunched his shoulders against the cold, almost slimy feeling that seemed to be suddenly crawling over his skin. But his attention was focused on the disorder around him, not the sensation assailing him. It looked like a small tornado had ripped through his home. Clothes were strewn all over the floor and dining table. Papers lay scattered across everything like huge snowflakes. And books had been lobbed from the bookcase in the living room. Food from the cabinets was piled on the kitchen floor like a strong earthquake had hit.

          "Sandburg!" Jim called, but he already knew the man was gone. There was no heartbeat, no sound of breathing, no odor of someone there.

Jim sniffed the air again. Sandburg _had_ been there; the scent of his shampoo still lingered in the air, along with something else. He closed his eyes, concentrating. It was also Blair's scent, but different. Had Sandburg been working out?

The phone rang, cutting off the detective's rapid thoughts. He found the instrument lying under Sandburg's dirty flannel shirt.

"Blair?"

"Hi. Jim? This is Nick Boyle, I'm trying to reach Blair. He called and left a message."

"Message?"

"Yeah, he asked me to give him a call when I got it. He said it was important."

"When did he leave the message?"

"The voice mail said about fifteen minutes ago, why?"

"Look, I need to see you – now. Sandburg's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"Someone took him."

"Give me directions," Nick said, and Jim did so. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Less than a half-hour later Nick was at the loft, helping Jim clean up the place while the sentinel used his heightened senses to try and find some clue as to who, or what, had abducted Sandburg. But Jim was already sure he knew who it was – Blair's double, the one who had killed Skye MacCarin, or her double. Ellison briefly considered calling in the forensics team, knew that he should, but his little voice kept telling him not to, and, thanks to Blair, he'd learned to listen. Something weird was going on, something he didn't want to draw anyone else into.

          Jim edged away for a moment, and, standing in the center of the living room, closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and reached out for Blair with his mind. There was nothing. It was like listening to dead air on the phone. He shivered and tried again, getting the same result. He ground his teeth together, making the enamel whine.

          He turned to look at Boyle, who was standing next to the dining table, giving him some space. "Tell me about Martin Greenley."

          Nick told the detective the same story he'd told Blair.

          "I just don't buy a ghost picking up a knife and killing four people," Jim argued.

          "Look, call it whatever you want," Nick replied forcefully, "doppelganger, double, clone, I don't care. But I'm tellin' you, Martin Greenley was dead two days before he killed four other people. Something else killed those people. But whatever it was, it could pass itself off as Greenley."

          Jim's lips disappeared into a thin line of frustration. He had to trust this man, but it just wasn't in his nature to do that. Not a stranger. Especially not a stranger who knew what he really was, and whom he didn't know a damned thing about.

          "Okay, look, a graduate student at the university was murdered yesterday, in Sandburg's office. At least four witnesses saw Blair at the scene, but he was with me. The next day, he sees the woman who was killed. Then, today, I saw Sandburg down at the precinct, but I called here and he answered."

          Nick frowned. "So Blair and this student have doubles, too?"

          "It looks that way, yeah. But why? What do they have to do with Greenley?"

          "Nothing," Nick replied. "At least as far as I know. Blair didn't seem to recognize Greenley's name when I mentioned it."

          "So what the hell is going on here?"

          "I wish I knew, Detective. But I'll do what I can to help; I just don't know more than what I've already told you."

          "Sandburg thought you did."

          "He was wrong." Nick bit back his mounting anger and added, "But I know someone who might. Can I borrow the phone?"

          "Call. Now," Jim replied, pointing to the phone.

          Nick nodded. _Never get between a sentinel and his guide_ , he thought as he picked up the receiver and dialed. "Derek, yeah, it's me. Look, you need to get up here… Okay." He hung up and turned to meet Jim's angry, worried gaze. "He'll be here tomorrow morning."

          "Who?"

          "Derek Rayne."

          Jim nodded. It would have to do. _But the man damn well better have a few answers_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Blair woke with a start when a rat scurried across his thighs. He sat up and shoved himself back away from the creature as best he could, watching as it disappeared into a crack in the wall. Glancing around, he decided that he must be in an abandoned building, maybe an old Victorian home from the looks of the decaying architecture. His feet were tied at the ankles, his wrists equally well-secured with a small diameter rope behind his back.

 _I hate this, I really do_ , he thought. _Why do I always end up tied up in old buildings?_

"Must be some pretty sucky karma I'm paying off," he muttered to himself. "Hey!" he called out as loudly as he could. "Hey! Can anybody hear me? Help! Hey, I need some help here!" He stopped and listened, but the only sounds he could hear were the rats, moving inside the walls. He shivered. "And I _hate_ rats," he added softly.

          He scooted closer to the boarded up windows and tried again. "Help! Can anybody hear me? I need some help!"

Still nothing.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" he demanded, his voice thick with rage and frustration.

          "Hell, indeed," was the reply, in his own voice.

Blair jumped with a startled yelp. Maneuvering around awkwardly, he looked up into his own face, then winced and grunted softly as memories

returned with a painful rush. He'd been at the loft, opened the door without checking first – like a damned idiot – only to come face to face with his own reflection.

But it wasn't his reflection. It was himself. And the doppelganger had reached out, the palm of its hand pressing hard against Blair's chest before the guide could react. Pain had exploded inside his head, breaking his consciousness into a million flying shards of agony and confusion.

And then he'd woken up here, wherever "here" was.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The doppelganger smiled, but made no reply. Instead, it moved closer, first pulling Blair away from the window, then pushed him over onto his side so it could fish into his back pocket and pull out his wallet. He shoved it into its own pocket.

"Talk to me, damn it!" Blair snapped, jerking himself back up when the clone stepped back. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I was supposed to be you," the double said in Blair's own voice.

"Supposed to be? You mean you're not?" he asked, watching his double's expression.

          "No, not you. But you called me. My thanks, brother."

          "Called you? Hey, man, I _never_ wanted an evil twin. Never asked for one, never ordered one, okay? So why are you here? Where did you come from? What do you want?"

          The clone cocked its head to the side and stared at Sandburg for a moment, its expression a mix of patronizing regret and amusement. "I need a guardian, to fulfill my destiny," it replied softly, then turned and left the room.

          _A guardian? Oh man, it can't be._ "Hey!" Blair cried. "Come back here! Hey!" He pulled on the ropes, but they refused to give even the slightest.

          Anger and frustration getting the better of him, Blair beat his heels violently against the wooden floor, yelling for all he was worth at the same time, hoping that someone might hear him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Day Seven

 

After a seemingly endless night, sunlight finally began to slip in through the cracks between the boards nailed over broken windows. Blair sighed. He'd tried for several hours to free himself, but it was impossible. He'd silently cursed the fact that he'd made it a point as a child to learn various knot tying tricks.

His double might have said he wasn't him, but he sure seemed to know how to make it impossible for Blair to untie himself. _Genetic memory, cell memory, something like that has to be working_ , he decided.

With nothing else to do, Sandburg finally leaned back against the wall and waited. He tried reaching out to Jim, knowing the man would be worried, but he couldn't feel the sentinel's presence. That scared him.

What was going on? What was his double doing? Was he with Jim? What would he do to him?

He closed his eyes and willed himself to rest, but he couldn't do better than a light doze.

A few hours later, the soft thud of footfalls echoed into the room and Blair's eyes popped open. He started to call out, then thought better of the idea. He waited in silence, his heart racing to see who was in the house.

A moment later two small boys stepped into the room, neither of them more than ten. They both gasped when they saw Sandburg, their eyes rounding with surprise and more than a little fear.

          "Hi," Blair said, smiling widely at them and hoping it might keep them from darting away.

          "See, I _told_ you it was haunted!" the smaller, blond-haired boy whispered to his dark-haired companion.

          "Who, me? I'm not a ghost," Blair said, still smiling.

          "Why are you all tied up?" the older boy asked. He looked to be a year, maybe two, older than the blond.

          Blair's mind raced. "Well, you see, some friends of mine were playing a little joke on me."

          "Why?" the blond asked.

          "Quiet," the older one said. "He might be bad."

          "Naw, I'm not bad. Hey, tell you what," Blair said, pitching his voice soft. "If you guys will untie me, I'll give you a big reward."

          "Money?" the blond asked, looking more interested.

          "Sure," Blair agreed.

          The blond stepped forward, but the older boy reached out and stopped him. "He might be mean."

          "Mean? Me? Naw, I'm not mean. I just have some nutty friends with a warped sense of humor. Please? I'd really like to surprise them by getting out of this before they come back and tease me about not getting loose myself."

          The older boy considered the request, then asked, "How much of a reward?"

          Blair's eyes widened slightly. "Uh, I'm not sure. But you can have whatever I've got in my pockets, okay? Every cent."

          The blond looked up at his friend, then whispered something Sandburg couldn't make out. The older boy nodded. "Okay," he said to Blair, "we'll untie you. But you gotta promise to be nice."

          "Absolutely. I promise," Blair replied. "Cross my heart and hope to die even."

          The two boys inched forward, finally reaching Sandburg, then went to work on the ropes binding his hands, eventually working them loose after several long minutes.

          Sandburg slipped his hands free and the pair scampered back to what they thought was a safe distance while he untied the rope binding his ankles. Climbing to his feet, Sandburg stretched, then fished into his front pockets, pulling out the change and a few wadded up bills. He carefully palmed two quarters and a twenty he could use to call a cab, then handed the rest to the boys.

"A deal's a deal," he said. "But listen, guys, there's this really nasty old goblin who lives here too. And he doesn't like kids very much, so you'd better stay away from here for a day or two while he's moving out."

          "A goblin?" the blond repeated, his eyes going wide. "Is he mean?" he asked, looking around nervously.

          "Really mean, especially to little boys. I'll tell you, I wouldn't want to be you if he caught me."

          "But he's leaving?" the older boy asked, also glancing around warily.

          "In a few days. Should be safe to come back next week. But until then, you'd both better find a safer place to play, okay?"

          "Okay," they chorused.

          "Promise?"

          They nodded.

          "Great. And thanks, guys. I really appreciate your help. Now, come on, let's get going before we wake up the goblin. He's really grouchy in the morning."

          "What's the goblin's name?" the youngest boy asked.

          "Jim," Blair replied with a grin.

          He escorted the two boys outside, then looked around, trying to figure out where the hell he was, and how he was going to get back to the loft. "Where are we?"

          "Cascade," the blond replied, glancing back over his shoulder at the old house.

          "Well, that's something," Blair muttered, then shivered as a wave of fear and hurt washed through him. _Jim_. He needed to get home – quickly.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Dr. Axton looked up when a knock sounded on his door. "Come," he called.

          A petite older woman stepped into his office – the nurse who had fetched a container of apple juice for Blair. "Doctor, we've harvested the female clone in Cascade. As we suspected, it was beginning to degrade. It's been incinerated."

          "Very good. Any news on the male sample?"

          "No, but the security teams are still looking."

          Axton sighed heavily. "Its viability should be breaking down, and it will degenerate soon. I want it found before that happens. We need to know what went wrong, and I don't want the locals speculating on what might have caused the cellular breakdown of a human being. The description in any such report would be sure to alert our enemies."

          "Yes, I have stressed that very fact to the search teams. They are doing the best they can to find the sample, but whatever went wrong seems to have given it an uncanny ability to elude us."

          "They need to do better. I don't want our plans betrayed. Not when we are so close to victory."

          "I know, Edward. I know. But there is good news. It looks as if the infection rates in Seattle are beginning to climb even faster than we'd hoped. The first fatalities have already occurred today, and so far the authorities have made no headway on identifying the contagion, or finding a possible cure."

          "Well, that, at least, is something to celebrate. Have Cassian's minions arrived in Seattle yet?"

"The day before yesterday," she replied.

He nodded. "Tell the staff to prepare. We'll be moving to our next field location in a day or so – as soon as we have that missing sample back."

          "Where do we go next, Edward?"

          "We need to leave Washington state. I was thinking Arizona, or perhaps Texas."

          "Yes, we should put a little distance between the outbreaks. It will add to the confusion and slow them down even further."

          Axton nodded. "And I want a second field team activated along the east coast as well. We might as well spread the clones as quickly as we dare. Have the international teams begun?"

          "Yes, they are all in place, many already growing clones to be infected."

          "Excellent. Is that all?"

          She nodded, then added, "You have done wonderfully."

          He smiled. "I do try."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Come on, Simon, someone must have seen _something!_ " Jim argued into the phone.

          "Jim, we're doing everything we can," Banks replied, trying to calm the man down. "The APB is out on Sandburg, and I've had uniforms out interviewing anyone they can find in the neighborhood who might have seen something. There's nothing else we can do."

"I know," Jim sighed.

"Oh, I thought you should know – I've got the preliminary results back from Sandburg's office. There were a lot of prints – Sandburg's, the dead girl's, students, other professors, staff, janitors, a couple of unknowns that they're tracking down now. Not to mention hair, fiber and other evidence that they're still sifting through. It's going to take some time before we have a suspect. Thank God the kid was sitting in my office when it happened."

          "Yeah," Jim said, rubbing the back of his neck. "What about the double of the girl, or that Greenley guy?"

          "Nothing on either one. They're long gone, or holed up someplace. If they even existed in the first place."

Ellison sighed. "I guess I'll see what I can figure out here."

          "Good luck, Jim."

          "Thanks, Simon." He hung up, then picked up the receiver again and called Nick's cell number. Boyle answered on the second ring.

"Yeah?"

          "It's Ellison."

          "I was just going to call you. Derek's plane just landed. He's taking a taxi over to your place. I'll be there in a few minutes myself."

          "Yeah. Okay," Jim said. He hung up again, then, with a heavy sigh, glanced around the loft, hoping that he'd missed something, but knowing that he hadn't.

Still, he needed something to do to pass the time until the two men arrived. He'd already cleaned up the mess of the day before, but there had to be something he missed that could to occupy his time…

Tentatively, he reached out with his mind again, probing for any awareness of his guide, but there was still nothing. "Damn," he breathed before heading into the kitchen to double-check that he'd actually gotten all of the mess that had been spilled over his counters and floor. When he was sure he had, he moved on to the dining room, the living room, the bathroom, his own bedroom, and finally Blair's bedroom.

          Standing in Sandburg's space, he carefully studied the room without really knowing what it was he was looking for. Frowning, he willed some clue to pop out and tell him where his guide was, but none obeyed.

He tried listening, closing off his other senses and focusing on Blair's heartbeat, a sound he knew better than any other.

Goosebumps erupted across his skin when he thought he heard the faint whisper of the familiar sound. But there was something else there as well, an even fainter echo of the same rhythm, then both were gone, swallowed by a profound silence that sent a chill down the man's back and coiling in the pit of his stomach.

It felt like he was being stalked by some malevolent shadow, but he knew he had nothing to fear from Blair. Still, he dialed back his hearing, allowing himself to slowly return to a normal sensory state.

"Come on, Blair, where are you?" he asked softly.

          Receiving no answer, he turned and walked back out into the loft and began to pace.

          Almost ten minutes later a soft knock sounded at the door. Jim jumped, then paused, listening. It was Sandburg's heartbeat, but something was… off. "Blair?" _My God, he must be hurt_ , Jim realized, hurrying to the door and pulling it open. "Blair?"

          The younger man looked up, his eyes slightly glazed, dark circles rimming his eyes, emphasizing the chalky gray complexion. "Jim," he whispered.

          "What happened to you?" Ellison asked, reaching out to help his guide into the loft. But before he could, Blair reached up and grabbed his wrist.

          A blinding flash of light immediately dropped Jim to his knees. His free hand came up, trying to ward off the attack, but it was useless. What felt like thousands of pieces of hot, jagged glass shot though his body, cutting away all his sensory connections to the world and leaving him suspended in a chilling void. He was immediately lost, unable to orientate himself in any way and it left him feeling weightless and sick to his stomach.

          "Blair!" he called, but there was no sound, no reality to the word that he could use to give it power.

          Fear swelled in his chest, choking him.

          "You are mine," Sandburg's voice stated calmly, coldly.

Jim jerked, his muscles screaming in agony and disgust as a cold, slimy chill wrapped itself tightly around his body, the only sensation he could feel. It squeezed tighter against his skin, cutting off his air as it stretched like plastic over his nose and mouth. He tried to fight, but he couldn't. He had no body, no reality, only his will, and he was being challenged to hand that over to the entity controlling him.

 _No_ , Jim snarled.

He sensed rather than felt Blair step past him, knocking his body over and shutting the door. So there was a reality out there still, but it was being carefully kept just beyond his reach.

Then the only world Jim currently knew dropped out from under him and he was falling through emptiness so profound he was afraid his consciousness would be eaten away by the gaping vastness. He clawed at nothing, trying desperately to hold the edges of himself together, but he couldn't stop fragments from being stripped away.

He cried out, demanding, then begging for it to stop, but neither reaction did any good. He flailed, vainly searching for something to grab hold of, some piece of himself even, but there was nothing.

          "Jim," the clone said, "can you hear me?"

          "Blair!" he cried, hope almost choking him. "Help me!"

          "Do as I say or you will be lost," the voice commanded, but it wasn't really Blair. It couldn't be his guide. But yet it was.

          "Blair!" he shrieked, frantically trying to reach the one person he trusted with all of his being, but it wasn't this man, this _thing_. This was _not_ his guide. He couldn't believe it was.

          "No, Jim, you're wrong. I am here," Blair's voice said. "You must follow my instructions, now, or you will be lost forever. Do you understand?"

          "Blair! Help me, damn it!" Jim demanded, feeling his sanity being teased apart by the continual assault. He fought back, refusing to give in, refusing to believe that Blair would ever hurt him. He knew that whoever was doing this was _not_ his guide, but he could feel the doubts battering his resolve and fracturing his hope.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          As Nick approached the door to Ellison's apartment he heard the detective cry out, the sound rending the morning silence like a banshee's squall. He bolted the remainder of the distance down the hall and grabbed the knob, turning it. To his relief, the door opened and he rushed inside the loft, taking in the scene before him in a glance: Ellison was lying on the floor at the foot of the stairs, his body writhing in convulsive spasms that looked about to pop his joints from their sockets. Standing over him was Blair Sandburg, a purely malicious smile curling his lips back in a declaration of victory.

          _No, not Blair_ , Nick realized. _The_ d _oppelganger_. "Move away from him – _now_ ," the ex-SEAL growled at the creature, the M-9 he carried already in hands and coming up.

But before he could fire, something unseen snaked around his throat, squeezing tightly. Nick dropped the gun, his fingers clawing at the invisible rope that was killing him, but to no avail. Then someone was driving past him, throwing him out of the way and breaking the hold the creature had on him.

Nick caught himself against the kitchen counter, gasping for air to fill his burning lungs.

          "Leave him alone!" Blair commanded, hurtling into the loft past Nick and meeting his double's angry gaze as they both stood over Jim.

          The creature smiled, the feral expression enough to make Nick take a step back. Sandburg, on the other hand, took another stride closer, his shoulders hunching as he prepared for the fight he knew was inevitable.

          "He is mine," the double replied with an air of calm assurance. "Interfere, and I will destroy him."

          "Like hell he's yours," Blair hissed.

"What are you?" Nick asked, hoping he might distract the creature long enough for Sandburg to find the opening he was obviously looking for.

          "I was created by the DAWN," the clone replied, but it continued to watch Blair. "Many of us were, to destroy mankind. But I am you, Blair Jacob Sandburg, a companion. And _you_ called out to me, and so I came to find my guardian, but he is gone. So I will take this one and live again as I once did – revered."

          "Despised!" Blair corrected, moving ever closer to his double. "Feared!"

          The clone glanced back down at Jim and the sentinel cried out again, his body jerking as if plugged into a live current. His hands came up, covering his ears. "Do not force me to destroy him."

          Jim whimpered, and not knowing what else to do, Blair lunged over his friend's body, grabbing his double. The instant he touched the creature agony exploded in his mind, but he was too mad to notice, too focused on stopping the creature from killing Jim to acknowledge something as unimportant as pain. He burst through the veil of anguish, emerging into an empty place of swirling gray fog.

The double stood a short distance away, watching. "Very good. You have considerable talent, but no training."

          Winds suddenly sprang up, whipping against Blair and buffeting him to his knees. "You _can't_ have him!" he yelled over the roar. "I _won't_ let that happen!"

          "I will take what I must have. You cannot stop me."

          "Yes, I will!" Blair struggled to his feet and staggered closer to the clone, strands of the fog lashing at his face and body, tearing into the core of his being with a searing intensity that caused his steps to falter, but they never ceased.

          "Stop!" the companion cried as Blair drew closer, but Sandburg pressed on.

          Reaching the double, his hands closed on the creature's throat, the companion's fingers encircling Blair's in the same instant.

 _Energy_ , the guide thought. _We're all just energy. Energy vibrates at a particular frequency. Frequencies can add to one another, becoming more powerful_.

The misty-gray world exploded in dancing arcs of pure energy that hurled Blair into oblivion. Jim, lost the moment before in a hell of torment, burst into consciousness with a strangled, "Sandburg!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The door was not completely closed, but the entire portal thrummed with energy. Derek Rayne reached out, his hand hovering just above the knob for a moment. Images exploded in his mind, holding him captive until they played themselves out endless seconds later. Then he pushed the door open and stepped into the loft just in time to see two Blair Sandburgs, each trying to strangle the other, collapse to the floor.

          "Sandburg!" Ellison roared, lurching up off the floor, his arms flailing for balance.

Nick grabbed the detective, helping him to his feet, where Jim swayed dangerously on shaking legs.

Ellison looked down at the two versions of his guide, then jerked free of Nick's supportive grip and stumbled the few steps necessary to reach the bodies.

          Nick looked back, noticing Derek for the first time. "Welcome to the war," he wheezed, his voice raw.

          Derek crossed to Nick, reaching out to grip the man's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Nick nodded. "I will be. Damn thing tried to strangle me."

The Legacy Precept watched as Ellison knelt between the two Blairs, checking both bodies for a pulse.

"This one's dead," Jim managed, his voice barely above a whisper and impossibly weak for a man of his physical size and strength.

          "The other one?" Derek asked.

          "Alive." Jim looked up at Rayne, despair in his eyes. "Which one–?" He broke off, too afraid to ask the question.

          Derek shook his head, unable to provide an answer. He looked to Nick. "What happened?"

          "I have to call this in," Jim said, needing to find something he understood. He pushed painfully to his feet.

          "No," Derek said, reaching out to stop him when he started for the kitchen. "There is more here than you know."

          "Then why doesn't _somebody_ tell me what's going on?" Jim yelled, then bit back a sob as his emotions threatened to betray him.

          "I will tell you what I can," Derek promised as he stepped over and squatted down between the two bodies. He rested his hand lightly on the breathing Blair's chest. "I believe this is Dr. Sandburg."

          "I wish I could believe you," Jim replied, but he was scared. He didn't want to face the pain again, couldn't stand the thought of returning to the abyss where he'd been trapped just moment before. He watched Rayne check the other body, the older man jerking slightly as his eyes glazed over for a moment.

          Derek looked up at Nick. "This is no doppelganger," he said. "It is a clone."

          "That's impossible," Jim countered, shaking his head. "We don't have the technology."

          "Some do, Detective," Derek countered. "Some do."

          "Derek," Nick said, "whatever that thing is, it said it was created by the Dawn."

          Rayne shrugged, the name meaning nothing to him. "Did it say anything else?"

          Nick thought a moment, trying to recall the creature's words as accurately as possible. "Something like 'I was created by the Dawn.' Many were to destroy mankind, but it claimed to be Sandburg, a guide. No," Nick corrected himself, "a companion. It said Sandburg had called it, so it came."

"To find its guardian," Derek guessed, looking back down at the body.

Nick nodded. "Yeah. That's when Sandburg tackled it. I'm telling you, Derek, it was like a damned lightning storm in here for a second."

          "I think I understand," Derek said quietly, his brow furrowed in worry.

          "Then I'd appreciate it if you'd explain it to _me_ ," Jim half-growled, too weak for anything more.

          Derek moved to Ellison's side, helping him over to the stairs and easing him down on a step. "I sent Blair a translation–"

          "I know. He never put it down. What–?"

          "I believe that when his clone was created – the clone of a guide, I must add – because Blair had been fixated on the story of another such man, it opened a doorway for the spirit of that ancient companion to slip into the duplicated body."

          Jim snorted. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

          "Detective, you yourself were possessed by the spirit of a long-dead sentinel. Why is it so hard to believe that the soul of a companion might take up residence in the empty shell of another guide?"

Jim sighed. What could he say to that? The man was right. "All right, let's say I buy this possession thing. What just happened to them, to me?"

          "That I do not know," Derek admitted. "Perhaps Dr. Sandburg was able to force the spirit out of the cloned body. It looks as if this body is diseased, or is breaking down. I don't believe a truly human body would do that."

          Jim looked down at the two versions of his guide, his head tilting slightly to the side. He pushed off the step and knelt next to the breathing

Blair and started to unbutton the flannel shirt the unconscious man was wearing.

          "What are you doing?" Nick asked.

          "He had to get some shots for the trip," Jim said, lifting Blair up and pulling the shirt off his shoulders before lying him back down. On the man's right arm were a pair of band-aids. Jim pulled them both off.

          "That's from a shot?" Nick asked, bending over Ellison's shoulder to look at the rend in the man's skin.

          "They used the gun," Jim suggested. "That can tear up the skin pretty bad sometimes."

          "No. That's how they took their DNA sample," Derek said. "They probably took a small plug of skin and tissue. The tear was just a way to mask the procedure."

          "But Sandburg would've known something was going on," Jim argued. "That would have to hurt."

          "Unless they included something in the shot to numb the skin," Nick speculated.

          Jim looked over his shoulder at the man. "That's it. I remember when I saw Blair after he'd gotten the shots. He looked a little off. And there were some odd smells, too, but I thought it was just because he'd been at the health center… Oh, shit."

          "What?" Nick asked.

          "The dead girl," Jim replied. "Blair said he saw her there the same day. They must have done the same thing to her."

          "Skye MacCarin?" Derek asked.

          Jim nodded, unconsciously reaching out to touch his guide's shoulder, needing the reassurance of that contact even as he was slightly repelled. What if he was wrong? What if Blair was dead and this was the clone?

          "Yes, Nick told me about her. Blair saw her double."

          "But where is it now? The PD's had an APB out for her and Greenley, but they haven't surfaced," Jim argued.

          "Probably picked up by the same people who created them," Derek replied.

          "Getting rid of the evidence," Nick added.

          "Yes," Derek agreed.

          "But _why?_ " Jim asked. "Why clone Sandburg and some student?" His fingers tightened unconsciously on the man's shoulder.

          "If we knew that, we could find whoever was responsible," Nick said.

          "I'm sure they believe their reasons are valid," Derek replied, then looked pointedly at Jim. "But none of that is important right now. You are going to have to go find Blair."

          Jim's expression was more than a little confused. "Find him? He's lying right here!"

          "No, his spirit," Derek explained, clearly a little flustered by Ellison's literal interpretation.

          "And just how do you suggest I do that?"

          "I don't know, Detective, but if you cannot do it quickly, that body will die as well. I can open the door for you," Derek said, "but you will have to find your own way after that."

          Jim met and held the man's gaze. Could he trust him?

 _Blair does_ , he reminded himself.

It would have to be enough. He could feel Sandburg – if this was Sandburg – slipping farther and farther away as they talked. He would have to take the chance. He nodded.

          "We'll start now," Derek said.

          Five minutes later Jim and the unconscious Blair were lying side by side on the living room floor. Soft music played on the stereo, the same music Sandburg often used to help Jim relax and meditate. How Rayne had known which music to choose Jim wasn't sure, but it gave him a bad case of the willies.

          "Detective," Derek said.

          "Look, call me Jim, all right?"

          "Very well, Jim. You already know where Blair is. It is someplace where he would feel safe, someplace where your power is strongest, or he believes it is. Let that guide you to where you must search. But be careful, the spirit of the companion was not destroyed. It has simply been forced from the clone's body. It will be out there, looking for you as well."

          "And what do I do if he finds us?"

          Derek was silent for a moment, then said, "If you can find Blair first, the two of you, together, can defeat the companion."

          "And if I _can't_ find Sandburg?"

          "Then the companion may very well defeat you, Detective, and you and Blair will die."

          "How comforting," Jim grumbled.

          "This is an old and powerful spirit," Derek warned. "He once thought that his guardian was a god, and _he_ was the god's puppeteer."

          "Arrogant son-of-a-bitch," Nick said softly.

          "Yes," Derek replied. "I believe so." He looked down at Jim. "Are you ready?"

          "As I'll ever be."

          "Good. Close your eyes."

          Jim swallowed hard, silently praying that he could trust the man and knowing that he had to. His life and, more importantly, Blair's life, depended on it. He forced his eyes closed.

"Good. Now, I want you to see yourself standing at the end of a well-lit hallway. You are carrying Blair in your arms. There is a door at the far end. Tell me when you can see the door."

Jim took several deep breaths, trying to find that center of calm that Blair had introduced him to. When he finally found it, he sank his consciousness into it, feeling it root him firmly. Then he accepted the image of his guide in his arms.

He looked up, finding the hallway as well, and started down it. The weight in his arms became progressively more real – heavier and more substantial. When he reached the far end of the corridor he found the door. It was made from thick, dark wood with a bright, brass handle.

"I'm here," he said, although he had no idea if it was aloud or only in his mind. He had a feeling it wouldn't matter to Rayne.

"When you are ready," Jim heard Derek say, "the door will open. Then, it is up to you."

Jim stared at the closed portal, hugging the unconscious man a little tighter to his chest. With a soft creak the door swung open.

"Here we go," he said softly, then stepped over the threshold… and into the jungle.

He heard the door swing closed behind him and jumped slightly. An awareness tickled at his thoughts and he glanced to his right, finding Incacha standing there, watching him.

"Thank God," Jim sighed. "What do I do?"

The spirit of the dead shaman smiled at him. "You know what to do, Inquer'ae," he said, then turned and stepped into the foliage, disappearing from sight.

"Incacha!" Jim called, but the man did not return.

Surveying the jungle around him, Ellison fought back the panic that rushed through him. He knew this jungle. It was _his_ space, _his_ holy ground, and no one and nothing was going to stand in the way of his finding Blair.

He started forward, letting his feet decide in which direction he needed to go… _The temple_ , he realized a few moments later when he recognized the familiar landmarks. And then he was standing there.

He laid Blair down on the altar stone and looked around again, wondering what he should do next. A breeze stirred the leaves of the trees around them and Jim heard the beat of wings as the birds took flight, fleeing the pending flight. The insects fell silent as well.

Looking down at his guide, Jim pondered his next move. But before he could really start to "think" about it, he was calling for his spirit guide.

A cry echoed through the jungle and Jim jerked back, momentarily startled. A huge black panther was lying stretched out along the entablature of the temple. Its tail twitched as it glanced down at Jim.

"You want to give me a hand here?" he asked the cat.

A soft whuffle turned his attention from the cat to the wolf sitting next to the altar, looking up at the sentinel with questioning eyes.

"Look, guys, I got him here, but I need a hint about what I'm supposed to do next. What do you say?"

The wolf thumped its tail against the stone.

"That's a little vague, Chief," Jim growled.

Neither wolf nor panther moved. They simply continued to stare at him while they waited for him to do God knew what.

He sighed. Rayne had said he'd know what to do, so why didn't he? With a sigh he reached out, pushing the long, curly hair off Sandburg's face. He was so still. Blair was hardly ever still.

"Come on, Chief," he said softly. "All you have to do is wake up."

There was no response.

"I don't know how the hell you managed to force that asshole out of the clone's body, but you did. So why can't you just climb back into yours?"

The wind picked up, kicking up leaves and dust that whipped around sentinel and guide.

Jim felt his skin pucker with goosepimples. The companion was closing in.

He reached out, pressing his hand flat against Blair's chest, his palm over his guide's heart. "Now, Sandburg. I need you _now_. We've got to do this together if we're going to survive. Come on, Chief, you're the only one I trust."

Blair's body jerked as a bolt of energy arced between them. Sandburg sucked in a deep breath, his back arching up off the stone slab. His eyes opened wide and he gasped for another breath.

Jim slipped his arm around the younger man's back, supporting him until he caught his breath enough to sit up on his own.

"Blair?" Jim asked, his hand still on the man's shoulder.

"Oh, man, that _sucked!_ "

"Tell me about it later," Jim suggested. "Our friend's on his way, and I've got a feeling he's a little pissed. Any ideas?"

Blair thought a moment, then glanced around. "Where are we?"

"Someplace you think's safe," Jim responded.

"I do?" Blair asked, then he shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I do. This is our jungle, man. Home turf."

"Rayne also said you thought my sentinel powers are strongest here. That true?"

          "I don't know, but it would make sense. This is kind of like your… sentinel womb."

          Jim's expression was half-amused, half-confused, but he nodded. "As long as it works for you, Chief."

          The wind picked up more force, eddies whipping them hard enough to make their skin sting.

          "Guardian!" the companion's voice called.

          Both men trembled slightly.

"He's closer than I thought," Jim said quietly.

Blair scooted off the altar, standing next to Jim. Together they peered into the jungle, trying to catch sight of the companion.

Blair turned and grabbed a fistful of Jim's flannel shirt, saying, " _Listen_ to me, man. A sentinel and a guide are like the two halves of the _same_ coin. There's no way to pull them apart if they're working together. That thing might be powerful, but he's only half of a whole. We're stronger than he is. Understand?"

Jim looked down at the balled fist that held him fast. "I get it, Chief. I get it."

"All you've got to do is trust me. If I tell you to do something, just do it. Okay?" Blair demanded, giving Ellison a shake for emphasis.

Jim nodded. Sandburg was terrified, but then he had good reason to be if he'd experienced anything like Jim had.

          "I will have my guardian," the companion said, his voice echoing around them.

          The panther stood, arching its back and spitting while the wolf dipped its head and bared its teeth.

          "Ah!" Jim cried, his hands coming up to cover his eyes just as Blair felt the first stab of the now-familiar headache.

          "No!" Sandburg spat. "Not this time!" He shook Jim as hard as he could. "Listen to me, damn it. This is _our_ turf. You _don't_ have eyes here. He _can't_ blind you. You hear me, man? He can't affect your senses unless _you_ let him! And if you let him, _I'm_ going to hurt you!"

          Jim heard the words and he let them soak into his being, creating a shield against the companion. He moved his hands, testing to see if the light was still there, but it was gone. Glancing down at Blair, he offered a wry grin as he said, "You'll hurt me, huh?"

          "Just a figure of speech, man," Blair replied, chuckling humorlessly. "I just hope I get the chance, you know?"

          "I know."

          The companion stalked through the dense foliage, stopping when he saw them standing at the temple. Still looking like Blair, he raised his hand, a bolt of blue-white lightening flashing from his palm.

          Jim grimaced, but didn't flinch. The blaze of light struck the cornice, raining sparks down on them.

          "Leave. Now," Blair told the companion.

          "I will have my guardian."

          "You lost your right to a guardian when you turned yours against the people he was supposed to protect! Your actions led him to his death!" Blair challenged.

          The companion glowered at Sandburg. "It is my _destiny_ to control the gods. And if I cannot, I will destroy him!" He raised both hands, his palms beginning to glow brighter and brighter as he howled in a language neither man could understand.

          Blair reached out and grabbed Jim's arm. "Remember, he can't affect your senses because you don't have any here!"

          "It's not my senses I'm worried about, Chief," Jim replied.

          And then Blair knew – the headaches, the flashes of light that had plagued Jim, the fact that the companion had manifested in his clone… "Jim, when he shoots that at us, I want you to see us as a mirror, reflecting it right back at him. Okay?"

          "What?"

          "Just do it!"

          Ellison had no time to argue. The companion reached a vocal crescendo, twin bolts of lightning flying from his palms. Jim closed his eyes, thinking, "I'm a mirror. I'm a mirror. I'm a mirror." A deafening scream popped his eyes open again and he watched as the companion writhed, engulfed in blazing blue and white flames.

          A moment later there was silence and the companion was gone.

          "Is that it?" Jim asked.

          "Isn't that enough?" Blair asked him.

          Ellison shook his head and started to smile, then realized that he was lying in the middle of his living room floor, Derek Rayne and Nick Boyle peering down at him. He sat up with a start. Lying next to him, Blair blinked his eyes open, then sat up as well, albeit much more slowly.

          "Man," Sandburg sighed, "I _need_ that vacation now."

          The other three laughed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## Day Eight

 

          The next morning Blair and Derek were the first two up, he and Nick having stayed at the loft, all four of them talking late into the night about what had happened and why.

          Blair fixed them some tea, and they carried their cups out onto the patio to enjoy the sunrise and talk, hopefully without waking the other two.

          "I was wondering," Derek said, "are you looking for a position?"

          Blair shrugged. "No, not really. I have a post-doc that runs through the end of the semester, and I can probably get another year out of it. But I really don't want to leave Cascade for, uh, well, for obvious reasons. Jim needs me."

          Derek nodded. "Well, you heard that one of our associated organizations was destroyed in Seattle. We are planning on opening a new branch I'd guess you'd say, here in Cascade. We could use someone with your background and talents."

          "Oh?" Blair asked, his eyes rounding. "What would I be doing?"

          "Basically what you're doing right now," Nick said, stepping out to join them. "Fighting evil, protecting mom, country, and apple pie."

          Blair's eyes narrowed slightly, but he grinned. "Who are you people, really?"

          "The answer to that will depend on yours," Derek replied, amusement dancing merrily in his eyes.

          Blair considered a moment, then huffed a sigh and nodded. "I'm in. But you knew I would be before you asked." He looked back to Nick. "Is that why you came to me? Was this actually some kind of a test?"

          Derek and Nick exchanged knowing grins. Yes, Blair Sandburg would fit in nicely.

Then Derek looked back to Blair, saying, "Yes. We wanted to see how you would handle Nick's request. But we had no idea about your clone, or the one of the young woman who was killed."

Blair nodded. "So, I guess this has something to do with… _X-Files_ kinds of things? The weird stuff?"

"I suppose you could say that, yes." Derek leaned forward. "Let me tell you about a very old organization called the Legacy…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Several hours later, after Derek and Nick had left for the airport, Jim and Blair sat on their outdoor patio, each enjoying a sandwich and a cup of coffee. They ate in silence for several minutes before Jim asked, "So, you believe everything Rayne came up with last night?"

          Sandburg looked up, meeting Ellison's gaze. He nodded as he swallowed a bite. "Yeah, I think I do… most of it anyway; probably all of it."

          "The scary thing is, Chief, so do I."

          Blair chuckled softly. "He's an interesting man."

          "That's one word for it." Jim finished the last of his sandwich, chased it down with coffee, then leaned back and sighed. "There's still a lot I don't understand about what happened. It's like some weird dream."

          "For instance?"

          Jim thought a moment, then said, "Rayne said I had to go find you, your spirit, but I never did."

          Blair grinned. "Yes, you did."

          "No, I didn't. I just found the temple. You found your way back to your body on your own. You weren't there, and then you were. I didn't do anything. I sure as hell didn't find you."

          With an amused, affectionate smile Sandburg leaned forward. "Yes, you did. Jim, you 'found' me in your heart when you said you trusted me. That's what gave me a path to follow back to myself. This whole thing was about trust, man."

          "You're starting to sound like him. Rayne, I mean. You want to run that by me one more time?"

          Sandburg took a breath and opened his mouth to speak, then paused, considering his words a little more carefully than he'd started to. After a moment he said, "Okay, it's like this. Sentinels and guides have to trust each other. Simple, but not necessarily easy, I mean, look how long it took you to _really_ trust me– Months. But that was the foundation of their working relationship, and of ours. It's what makes it work."

          Jim nodded. "I can buy that. You tell me what to do and I do it because I trust you. I know you're not going to hurt me – not on purpose, anyway."

          "Right. Well, the companion was trying to force a wedge into the trust we share. If he could do that, he could pry us apart and, he thought, take my place."

          Jim shook his head. "No way, Chief. The man was a control freak."

          A grin knotted the corners of Blair's mouth. "Yeah, I know." _Just like someone else I know_. "He thought he was more powerful than the gods because he saw his sentinel, his guardian, as a god, and that god trusted him and allowed himself to be guided by the companion. I, on the other hand, do not suffer from that delusion."

          Jim stared at Sandburg for a moment, not sure if he should be offended or not. "Glad to hear that," he finally replied. "I've never thought I was anything more than a man with a gift. Hell, sometimes it feels more like a curse."

          "I know," Blair said, his voice soft with understanding. "But like you said your spirit guide told you, it's a gift _and_ a responsibility. The companion shirked that responsibility when he started turning his guardian against the people he was supposed to protect. And he tried to make you lose your trust in me by hurting you, and making you think it was me who was responsible."

          "But I always knew it wasn't you," Jim countered.

          "You knew," Blair agreed, "but there was still a part of you, a small part, that doubted because you were afraid. And you would've been an idiot to react any other way. That thing was powerful, and I'm sure it could've killed us if he'd wanted to. You had every right to be afraid. Hell, I was terrified, too. And I can't imagine what it would've been like if he'd looked like you."

          "I'll admit I was scared. I honestly thought I was going to go crazy there for a while. And he was you, but…"

"Yeah, he was in my body, sending you all the right physical signals, but he wasn't _me_."

"But that was enough to throw me," Jim admitted. "That's why I had to say, to believe, that I trusted you more than anybody else before you could find your way back," he reasoned.

          "I think so, yeah."

          "Rayne said as much, but I wasn't really hearing him."

          "Derek can talk in riddles sometimes, but I think he's almost always right. Oh, and he, uh, he offered me a job this morning."

          Jim looked up, his expression more worried than happy. "He did?"

          Blair nodded. "Yeah. And my post-doc's up at the end of the semester."

          "So you're going to take it?"

          "I, uh, I already took it."

          Jim dipped his head, silence falling between them for a moment. "Does that mean you'll be moving to… San Francisco, is it?"

          "Nope."

          The detective looked up. "No?"

          "Remember that organization that was wiped out up in Seattle by Greenley's clone?" He waited for Jim to nod. "Well, they're starting over… here in Cascade."

          "Cascade?" Jim echoed, his tone just hopeful enough to make Blair's chest tighten a little.

          _He cares_ , Sandburg crowed silently. _He really does_. "Yep. Professor Sandburg, working for the Leg– Luna Foundation."

          "What are you going to do?" Jim asked, curious now that he wasn't afraid that Sandburg might be leaving.

          Blair thought about that for a moment, then said, "I'm not exactly sure. He didn't get that specific."

          Jim leaned forward, his expression confused. "You mean you took a job, but you don't know what you'll be doing?"

          There was a pause, then Blair nodded happily. "Yeah, that's about the sum of it. But I do know it's going to be interesting. Has a good health package, too."

          Jim's eyes widened, then he snorted. "I don't know if that's such a great thing, Chief. Sounds dangerous to me."

          Sandburg frowned, not having considered that bit of information in quite that light. Then he brightened again. "Aw, it can't be any worse than being your guide."

          Jim sighed softly. _Wanna bet? Well, at least I'll be close by, in case you need my help. And I have a feeling you might. There's more here than you're letting on. I wonder how long it'll take before he tells me._ "When do you start?"

          "As soon as the semester's over. It'll take them that long to find a location here and get the rest of the people moved."

          Silence fell between them again, comfortable and familiar. They sipped on their coffee and enjoyed the rare, if cool, mid-day sunshine.

          Sandburg finally said, "Looking back, there was a hell of a lot of clues I didn't pick up on the way I should have."

          "What do you mean?" Jim asked.

          "Like the fact that we were both on the fritz at the same time. I should've realized something was up the first time you had an overload and I had a headache at the same time."

          "Why?" Jim asked. "Coincidences do happen."

"I know several physicists and parapsychologists who would disagree with you. It's all synchronicity, man. I kind of feel like I let you down."

"Well, don't," Jim said, "because you didn't. You saved my life. Boyle's too from what he said."

"Maybe. But I wish I would've seen the bigger picture sooner."

"You get that smart, Chief, I'm going to start worrying," Jim replied. "By the way, how _did_ you kick the companion's spirit out of the clone's body?"

"Physics."

"Come again?"

"You really want me to explain it?" Blair asked, his eyes dancing with amusement. Jim hated it when he started speaking in academese.

Jim thought a moment, then shook his head. "Pass." Then he snorted. "But you know, I swear, if one more person tells me I already know something, and I don't, I'm just going to have to hurt them. That has got to be the most annoying–"

Blair sat, staring at his sentinel, his eyes wide, his attention focused on the man. He blinked slowly. Once… twice…

"What?" Jim asked.

"Oh, come on, Jim, you _know_ what I'm thinking," Sandburg replied.

Ellison's eyes narrowed. He leaned over and set his coffee cup on the ground.

 _Uh-oh_ , Blair thought, his grin fading. _Maybe I pushed just a little too far._ "Hey, come on, man. You _did_ know. I know you did. Right?"

Jim rose.

 _Play is a good thing_. Sandburg bolted from his chair, darting into the loft. "You _did_ know! I know you did!"

"You're gonna pay for that, Chief."

"Yeah, right! You have to catch me first, old man!"

 _Old man? I'll catch you_ , Jim thought.

Fifteen seconds later the neighbors heard: "Ahhhhhhhh!"

 

 

[1] **Author's Note** : This plot idea is borrowed from an episode of _The Burning Zone_ , and the organization represented here is the nemesis of _The Burning Zone_ 's good-guys, and called the "DAWN." There is a planned BZ story for Neon RainBow Press that will overlap with this story and follow the BZ characters as they deal with the viral outbreaks.

[2] "Guide Duty" by Becca Koldfurr, in _Sensory Overload #2_.

 

The End

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